Virtues and Vices
by 1000stars-in-her-eyes
Summary: The leader of the Elite Seven, the highest ranking Archangel, Charles, senses a powerful Gifted on Earth, and immediately sets down to recruit her to Heaven before 'they' get a hold of her. But what happens when this seemingly simple mission brings him face to face with his old-friend-turned-nemesis, Erik, the Fallen angel, the Prince of Hell?
1. Prologue

A/N-This is my entry for the Reverse Bang. Since I got so many readers here, I thought eh, why not upload it here as well? This is a Fantasy AU, where mutants are called "Gifted". The Xavier School is transmutated to Heaven and Erik's Brotherhood is Hell. Literally, I kid thou not!  
My entry for the XMRB, based on keire-ke's amazing, *le mind-boggling* art. I have no words to explain how fortunate I feel working with keire_ke and her affinity to angels. I found my lost soul-sister, I'm telling ya all.  
Also, a truck full of gratitude to afrocurl, (and I've already offered my soul to her, sorry,) for betaing this. I swear I'd have been lost without you!  
I do not own any pictures I used in the banners; the credits are given at the end of each chapter. I actually put the links from where I downloaded the pictures; if any proper credits are missing, please inform!  
I hope everyone enjoys reading this as much as I did writing.

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They say soulmates are meant to be together. No matter what obstacles they face, how perilous the journey is, or how heart-breaking the turns are. In the end, they always find each other. They will recognize each other and they will end up together.

Fate has spun so many legends on this celestial topic. Elders say an invisible red ribbon connects two soulmates together. Writers say the first letter of your soulmate's name is etched on the creases of your thumb-there to stay, always. Poets say time stops the first time you look into the eyes of your soulmate- no matter whatever be the color of their eyes, you find yourself drowning in the ocean depths. Painters never found anything as beautiful, as perfect as the smile of your one true love. Musicians describe the tinkle of their laughter as the loveliest sound to the ear, like lavenders gently dancing in the wind, like the sound of the first drop of dew collecting at the edge of a leaf and falling to the forest floor, gently caressing the dirt

But Faith has her own share of irony. Sometimes, it takes longer than a first meeting to recognize each other.

But they always do. Because they fit together like little puzzle pieces; they might not share the same interests, but they share the same passion. And most important of all- they understand each other.

Isn't that what every soul is looking for? Someone who understands them, someone to whom they don't have to justify their actions, someone, who accepts them for who they are? Because that someone, is their soulmate, their other half, their true companion. All other feelings, love, compassion, attraction, come next.

But what happens, when the soulmates live in different worlds? When they are bred to destroy the other? When they are taught to think and work for just the opposite causes? When they have different faiths?

What happens when soulmates are bound by duties and responsibilities, by honor and reputation? What happens when the Worlds see them as enemies? Can they betray their own people for their love? Is their love a force strong enough for them to abandon the ones depending on them?

But the most bothering question of all, would their own hearts accept that they are meant to be? That underneath all the hatred, their blood pulse in the same rhythm, yearning for each other? That just for once, they should listen to their hearts and not their brains?


	2. Chapter 1 The Catalyst

"Damn it!" Moira MacTaggart cursed as the wind swept off her umbrella. She chased after it, trying to keep her eyes both on where she was going, and the umbrella, black as the sky.

The weather had been very perplexing for the past few days, all around the country. Hot- the days had become unbearably hot, parching man and nature alike, sweat almost a standard characteristic trait of all the people. And then the storms came, without any preamble. One moment, the stray dogs were dying of thirst; dead eyes staring into the lonely skies, and the next, the winds waltzed in, hypnotizing all elements around her. The smaller, weaker elements –stray newspapers, leaves from the naïve trees, and unfastened hats and caps of careless children- were the ones most affected, for they joined her in her fanatical dance, and ran away to her, towards the sky.

The insatiable wind invited her lover to join in the celebration. Thunder cackled, and the sky gave away, as if pouring down heaven's tears- all pain and suffering pent up for centuries. It started raining cats and dogs, threatening to wash off little girls and young men alike. What's more, the Earth didn't forget herself, reminding her presence with minor earthquakes in the more susceptible areas. It was as if a skilled player had decided to sit on his window and toy with the weather, unable to choose between one.

"Caught'ya!" Moira exclaimed, gripping the umbrella just as it was about to fly away once more. She raised it over her head again, trying to shield herself from the rain, which had fortunately slowed down to a light drizzle.

An eerie feeling gave rise to goose bumps on the back of her neck. She looked around and found herself alone in an unknown neighborhood.

The nearest lamp post flickered, and gave away, drenching the lights out of its vicinity.

Moira felt a presence, somewhere close, and she turned abruptly, attempting to catch her intruder, but the streets were empty. Far away, another lamp post flickered and died. Must be something wrong with the electricity, Moira thought. It was starting to get cold all of a sudden, she realized, wrapping her free arm around herself.

"Or maybe I'm watching too many horror flicks?" She said out loud to repress the paranoia forming at the base of her spine.

There was a presence around her, and she couldn't deny it. She started striding towards her house with a quick, brisk pace.

Had she not been observing her surroundings as keenly as she was, she would've missed the small sob. She stopped dead in her tracks. She heard the sob again; it was a small, soft cry, coming from around the corner.

"This is a bad idea," she muttered as she found herself walking towards the source of the voice. It felt exactly like the first five minutes of a bad, scary movie, where the dumb girl with a deliberate death wish almost invites the ghost to kill herself. Oh, and then dies, for that matter.

It was small child, with messy hair, and strange clothes, holding her face in her tiny hands. As Moira approached, she looked up, glassy eyes glistening in the light from the lamp post.

"Oh," Moira said, stepping closer. "Hello there, sweetie."

The color of her hair or eyes was hard to decide in the orange light, but the tears were something Moira didn't miss. She must be two years old, maybe three, innocence painting her innocent face, along with fear.

She looked up to Moira and held out her hand. The golden lamp light created a glowing halo around her, her pretty white dress and tearful eyes made her look surreal.

Moira crouched in front of her, taking her small hand into hers. Death be damned now, if she was going to die here now, she didn't care. The child looked so vulnerable and lonely! Moira simply could not leave her alone in the alley.

"There, there, don't cry," she said, wiping off some of the minuscule tears. "Are you lost? Don't worry, I'll help you. I promise." Moira wrapped herself around the child, trying to pass some comfort through physical contact.

"You promise?" came a feeble voice. Moira noticed it was broken, but not weak. Or was she analyzing too much?

"Yes," she said, petting her glorious curls, wet from the rain.

When she pulled back, the girl had a somber expression on her face, a different light in her eyes. "Thank you, I don't know where to go," she said gently, but she smiled like she knew more.

"What's your name, honey?" Moira asked, mentally shaking her head. Maybe she was over-imagining?

"They call me Maya," the girl replied.

"Don't leave me alone," Maya said. Moira was about to turn off the lights of her guest bedroom, after safely tucking in the child. She paused, hands mid-way to the light switch.

Moira had asked the whereabouts of the girl's parents and home, but in reply, she had received two sets of precious little pearl-like tears streaming down the petite face. Moira felt reluctant to call the police, but she didn't want to leave the child alone either. So she brought the girl to her own house. Maybe she could figure out something in the morning?

"Um," Moira stood there now, deciding, when Maya chimed in.

"They will be coming soon," she said.

"'They' who, sweetie?" Moira asked.

"My creators… and my destiny," she whispered in a tone that was too derisive for a three year old. For a second, Moira almost believed that she was hearing things. "I don't want to go with them. Don't leave me?" The little girl requested.

"Alright." Moira sighed.

It was early in the morning, warm sunlight slowly peeking in through the curtains, birds twittering about, and no hint of the storm clouds in the sky- as if a smirking magician with a know-it-all glint in his eyes had waved his wand and the dark stormy shades had faded away. It was all calm and tranquil, until Maya literally jumped onto Moira's sleeping form.

"Wake up, sleepy!" The girl was giggling, shaking Moira as hard as she could. "They're here! And they want to meet you!"

Moira groaned, and tried to swat away Maya as if she were a mosquito. "Go away!" she said, groggily. She couldn't be blamed- Moira wasn't used to being pounced on by giddy children. After all, she wasn't much of a morning person in the first place.

But then she heard another voice, a male voice, coming from directly in front of her. "Good Morning."

She snapped her eyes open, and looked directly into the eyes of the devil. Red skin, an evil smile, and a pointed tail waving right in front of her face.

She gave a scream and backed away, panicking. Then she got tangled in her bed sheets and fell off the bed.

Its a nightmare. A horrible, terrible nightmare, she decided, clutching at the blanket. Maybe if she closed her eyes tightly enough, it would end.

But then she heard someone clicking their tongue.

"Azazelo!"

It was another female voice, but it wasn't Maya. It was that of a woman.

Moira peered out from underneath her blanket, and saw legs. She counted the pairs; there were at least two from where she saw them. A man's pair, tailor-cut perfect trousers and polished shoes, and a woman's, creamy feet and golden heels that any woman would kill for.

Mustering up all her courage, she slowly sat up, pulling off her safety covers. This time, she was greeted by a woman, with soft blonde hair and a kind smile. She offered a hand to Moira, which the latter took, holding firmly, till she noticed that the woman had golden eyes, and they wereglowing.

"What?" She jerked her hand free, backing to the wall. "What are you?"

"Please, Miss, calm down," the woman with the golden eyes said, taking a step back.

"Yes, Moira, they are my family," came the happy voice of Maya, from somewhere to her left. Moira turned to the direction, and was face to face with a grinning Maya, who was literally hovering in the air.

And it was the last thing Moira saw before everything went black.

After Moira regained consciousness (and saw the people again, nope, they had not disappeared,) she had somehow accepted that it was not a dream. But when they had claimed that they were uh, "not mortals" Moira began doubting herself. Maybe she hit her head, and had a concussion? Maybe all these years, she had been underestimating the powers if her imagination.

"I'm Mystique," the blonde hair woman introduced herself, giving Moira that kind smile of hers again. Somehow Moira started feeling …just as if everything was back in order, as if 'Mystique' had that effect on people.

Moira nodded back, unable to find words. Her eyes kept darting back to the impressionist of the devil, sitting oh-so casually on his chair. When their eyes met, he gave another dark grin, and Moira turned her attention back to the woman.

"I know you will not believe this," Mystique said, "but you need to have faith."

Then Moira's eyes landed on Maya, who was still hovering around her face.

"Will you please explain why is she hovering like that?" Moira squeaked to the blonde woman, who nodded in reply. "And why is that man red? And why do your eyes glow?"

"It's a long story, and I believe you should take your day off from work," the blonde said firmly, and Moira was unable to refuse to that tone of dominance.

After a few moments, Moira found herself sitting in her living room, with the man and the woman, who, she was sure, were surreal.

"Okay, listen, Moira," Mystique said. When Moira gasped, the blonde gave a small, firm nod. "Yes, Miss McTaggart, we know your name. As for me, my comrades and-" she looked at the red man sitting across the table, "-associates call me Mystique, but from where I come from, I am Raguel."

That name rang a bell, but Moira wasn't sure. So she asked, "Where exactly do you come from?"

"I am present whenever someone prays for fairness," Mystique replied, taking a breath before continuing. "I'm an Angel of the Lord. The Angel of Justice. And I come from the Heavens."

There was a moment of you-can-hear-crickets-chirping-in-the-background-i f-you-pay-attention-kind-of silence, and Moira was sure someone with cameras would jump from behind the couch and scream 'Gotcha!' But no one did. It was only Mystique and the red man, and herself, alone in her living room.

"Okay," Moira said slowly, nodding. This woman was nuts. But the question was, what did she want from Moira?

"I am not crazy," Mystique said, dead serious, as if staring right into Moira's soul. Moira swallowed, nodding again.

"You don't trust me." It was not a question from the blonde's lips. Moira paused, unsure what to do next. "But you have to. We need something from you, and we don't have much time."

"She's right," came another voice, a different male voice, and Moira was sure he heard the fluttering of wings. She was surprised to see that the voice belonged to a fair-skinned man, with sharp eyes and brown hair, who was suddenly standing next to Mystique. He gave her a nervous smile, extending a hand.

"You can call me…Hank, I think," he said. Moira stared at him as he walked and took a place beside Mystique.

"This-" Mystique said, "is Jegudiel, the Advisor."

"Trust us," Hank said. "We are not here to hurt you."

"What about …that?" Moira asked pointing to the red-skinned man. Mystique rolled her eyes (and even that was graceful,) and was about to say something, when another voice interrupted her.

"This is Azazel," it was sultry and inviting, and it came from a semi-nude woman was perched provocatively on the couch. "He is Greed."

Azazel nodded, smirking again. "Sorry for scaring you. I couldn't stop myself." Though, his face showed that he was not sorry, rather, he was enjoying Moira's discomforts.

The woman who had answered for Azazel was blonde too, but something was different about her sensual curls and curves. Her skin was white, flawless, but it was dissimilar to that of Mystique's or Hank's. They had this –this, purity radiating off them, while this other woman looked made-up and perfect. And gorgeous. In fact, she looked too pretty to exist. And so attractive.

"My friends call me Emma," she said, provocatively. "But I'm also known Lust," her voice dipped low, and she winked at Moira before looking towards Hank and Mystique.

Moira's eyes widened, and she nodded again. Yeah, right. All these people were out of their minds, and she needed to get them out of her house as soon as she could.

"Do you think crazy people could do this?" Azazel asked, reading her face, and he disappeared. Just like that, into thin air. The next second, the room smelled strongly of sulphur, and Azazel had somehow materialized right beside Moira.

So Moira fainted again.

"Umm, so you guys want something? Tea, coffee?" Moira asked, standing up, to the very eccentric group of people that had gathered in her living room that morning. She knew it was a very wrong question to ask, if the people actually were what they claimed to be. Do immortals really drink beverages?

Of course, they were not real! Moira believed that she was having an Alice-in-Wonderland dream, and she would wake up any time. So why not go with the flow and enjoy the vividness a little? Who was next? Sam and Dean Winchesters? Or the Doctor himself? Maybe she would wake up the very next second and find out that she was late again. At least she'd have a nice story for her friends.

"Um, sorry, wrong question," she awkwardly shrugged, snapping out of her thoughts.

"Actually senorita, I'd like some," came another male voice, and a man materialized beside Emma on the couch. He was quiet good looking, with shoulder-long dark hair, and a dazzling smile, and he simply looked so…so -delicious? Somehow that was the only word which popped into Moira's mind.

"I'm Gluttony," he called out proudly. "But you can also call me Janos," he gave Moira another dazzling smile. "Now, for the breakfast…?" He drifted off in that accent of his.

"And just why are you acting all Spanish?" Mystique asked, eyes folded into tiny slits. If someone could look gracious and annoyed at the same time, Mystique was doing it right there.

"Because the cuisine there is delicious?" Janos said, winking. Moira could almost hear the unsaid duh. Mystique huffed and turned away.

Moira quickly excused herself away. She needed to get away for a few minutes, before she went insane. While fixing some breakfast, she recalled everything she'd analysed. Okay, so these people…these -whatever they were, sitting in her living room and asking for food as if it was their house, had somehow materialized in front of her.

Okay.

Two of them claimed to be angels. Mystique, the Angel of Justice, and Hank, the Advisor.

The other three believed they were personifications of the three sins out of seven, Emma: Lust, Azazel: Greed and Janos: Gluttony. Right?

Fine. Now the million dollar question was: what did they want from her?

As Moira was setting down the tray on the coffee table, she caught a piece of conversation between Emma and Janos.

"You know we could've done it by ourselves?" Emma asked.

"But I was hungry!" Janos was saying.

Moira blinked a few times, and then returned to her seat, Maya bobbing on her arm rest.

"Okay, um. Not to sound rude. But... What do you all want from me?" Moira asked.

"Yes," Mystique said, (and Moira could hear the unsaid finally!) "We're here for Maya."

"As you must've realized by now," Emma interrupted, earning a soft glare from Mystique. "Maya is one of us; she's different."

Moira nodded, remembering Maya hovering in the air.

"We'll take care of her, teach her things. Her survival depends on it," Mystique chimed in. "But a few complications have arisen."

"She refuses to go with either of us," Azazel said.

"Either of you? You mean you are not working together?" Moira asked slowly.

"Together? Do you really think we'd work with them?" Janos asked, swallowing his coffee. He made a disgusted face towards the 'angels', while Mystique rolled her eyes again. Moira made an 'Oh!' face. Right, she forgot the whole 'angels don't usually work with demons' stereotype.

"And, she's also revealed her powers to you," Hank said. "At least, some of it. And, she's grown quiet fond of you, miss. It's hard to convince her to come with us."

"Or us," Azazel added.

Moira raised her eyebrows skeptically. Really? Didn't angels and demons have special powers? They couldn't convince a three year old?

"She's not ordinary," Emma said, as if reading her mind. "She has special powers. She numbs our own powers, she amplifies them. She's quiet strong, stronger than most of us, and she doesn't even realize that."

"She'll get the right upbringing with us," Mystique said. "We'll teach her how to help herself and the others as well."

"Right, you would," Emma said, clicking her tongue. "We'll teach her how to survive, and you know that."

"She should come with us," Hank said.

"Why not us?" Azazel asked.

"No!" Maya suddenly shouted, sensing the tension, clinging to Moira. "I won't leave Moira! I don't want to go with you, either of you! I want to stay here. It's nice in here…And warm," she concluded.

Moira wrapped a protective arm around the small child, analyzing the situation. She sensed what was going on. Maya was gifted, just like all the rest in front of her. But they were, some why or the other, divided into two groups. And both of these groups wanted Maya, because she was stronger than them. Obviously, they would exploit her naivety, use her for their own needs, Moira could see that. She somehow couldn't let them take away the child. They seemed so… emotionless. And egotistic? How would they take care of a child in such conditions?

"She's not the first child, Miss MacTaggert. There have been many before her," Emma supplied. "And we don't normally do this," she gestured at all of them. "We don't reveal ourselves like this. Its because-"

"-Because Maya is stronger than all of you, than anyone before her, and she refuses to come," Moira finished. "She wants to stay with me. But you want me to convince her, don't you all?"

"Very well," Hank said.

"I apologize beforehand, to all of you," Moira said, standing up. Maya refused to let her go, standing on the couch to embrace her waist. "But I reject your proposals, both of them. What if I don't want her to go?" Moira challenged.

"Then, I apologize too, Miss," Azazel said, vanishing. A second later, he materialized right next to her, "but you'd no longer need these memories then. Emma would be glad to take them away, wont you?" he said coldly.

Emma nodded, stepping forward.

Moira stepped back, swallowing hard. This didn't look good. Would she lose all her memories now?


	3. Chapter 2 The Archangel

"Brother."

The air was cool and serene, soft clouds moving slowly across a vast expanse of nothing but blue. Mystique's arrival was accompanied with the soft fluttering of her wings, snowy white just like the clouds misting at her feet.

She had left her earthly appearance and reverted back to her natural state. Skin painted a pure sapphire blue, and hair as fiery as Justice herself, she stepped forward, barefooted. A chaste white gown flowed down her shoulders, barely reaching her knees, wavering with the wind. Here, in Paradise, they didn't need earthly concealments, like clothes. But it was in Modesty's grace, that they covered themselves, so as not to arouse obstructions…like lust.

She had a crown around her brow, just like all her brothers and sisters. Made from nature's favorites; bright green leaves that never withered, and gentle branches that never felt uncomfortable. And nestled between the leaves, were pearls, pure white and powerful, that sang of her strength. Each time an Angel of the Lord did something good, saved someone's life, or sacrificed something for the greater good, received a wound because of his or her missions, or pushed a sinner into death's embrace, a pearl materialized on their crown.

Mystique had a few herself, and she was quite proud of them, even if she didn't let the sin overpower her humility. It was physical proof of her devotion to the Deity.

She closed her eyes and relaxed in the cloud's atmosphere. This cloud-palace belonged to her brother, and it always had a different aura, something about the fragrance, the air- there was a whole different feeling of serenity and tranquility that radiated off this place. She always felt that she belonged, and there was this- sense of completeness, whenever she stepped onto this particular cloud, more familiar that her own cloud.

He was standing on the edge, face turned towards the distance, hands locked behind his back as he pondered off the eternal questions of the mystery called life. His laurel-crown was dotted with so many pearls that they appeared to be solid white bands. Mystique quietly joined his side, gazing towards the empty sky.

Sunlight slowly kissed him, his soft brown curls shimmering gold and dancing gently with the wind. He was one of God's finest creations; Mystique had no doubts on that. Sapphire eyes that changed shades like pure water; sometimes clear and soft, like the reflections on a secluded lake, sometimes vivid and molten, like the endless depths of the swirling oceans, and sometimes dark and turbulent, like clouds of the midnight sky. That of course, depended on his moods, whether he was feeling blessed and happy to be a part of God's world, or amused with his brother and sisters, especially Mystique herself, or dead serious when staring into the eyes of his sinner.

The loincloth that barely covered his body was pale, compared to the pastel shade of his skin. His frame was well toned over the years, though not bulky with muscles, and appearances were deceptive. He was the most powerful angel of them all, The Protector. The Soldier.

Mightier than brawny muscles, he had the strength to control minds-not only humans, but the supernatural as well, angels, demons, you name them. He didn't need physical strength to over-power his enemies, he simply caged them in their own minds, and let Death kiss them goodbye with one flick of Elef̱theria,his longsword, blazing with a blue flame, just like his eyes, that reflected off the neon blue of the fire and glowed.

There were different ranks of angels. The warrior Archangels, the counselor Seraphims, the governing Dominions, the joy-bringing Cherubs, and the guardian shoulder angels. Amongst them, only Archangels had their own longswords, that materialized into their grips whenever their owners needed them.

Humans found it hard to believe that someone who looked so delicate and kind could protect them all. They fabricated stories about his violence; they sculptured him like a fighter. They called him Michael.

To her, he was Charles, compassionate and kind. Just and humble. The highest ranking archangel …though, after him.

"We couldn't reach out to her," Raven said softly. "She didn't want to come."

When Charles didn't reply, she continued. "They were there as well. She didn't go with them either. She was strong, brother. Stronger than most of us."

"She is different, yes?" Charles asked the sky.

"Yes, you were right. Her gift, it affects our powers. They don't obey us. They go haywire," Raven paused. "We couldn't convince her. She stays with a human. I believe…you should go?"

Charles turned his turquoise-sunset eyes towards her, and she held them. Then he nodded in affirmation, and jumped off the cloud-cliff. White wings spanned open, gliding him in the open sky. His wings were stronger, larger, and at the base, just where the wings started, the feathers were pure gold.

Very few angels had golden feathers. In fact, Mystique knew no one else with even a single golden feather. They came only after a True Sacrifice. And Mystique knew her brother had sacrificed more than his share. She was there at The War. She saw him lose his wings, he could not move on his own. She saw him exhaust all his strength, drain all his powers.

She saw him lose his mate, the love of his life.

And the most heart breaking verse was that they hadn't even accepted each other. Their love was new, even if everyone else could feel it. Mystique was sure they weren't even aware of their own feelings at that time, let alone each other's. How naïve Charles had been!

And now he was alone, so alone. She knew he had drowned his heart-break in the oceans of duty and obligation. But every once in a while, the waters ebbed and she could see his soul crying in his eyes. A sea blue wolf in his eyes howling at the moon.. A heartbroken singer praying in his eyes.

No.

No more. Charles had endured more than what he had to, had been blinded in unending darkness, and it was his turn to enjoy the daylight, bask in the sun's warmth. She closed her eyes when Charles finally disappeared beneath a layer of clouds. Praying, she hoped that the Deities would bless them, and everything would turn out well. There were no second chances, no mistakes. They had to right what had been wronged.

The plan had already been set into motion.


	4. Chapter 3 The Fallen

"Do you think he'd kill us if he finds out?" Azazel whispered from his knees.

Emma rolled her eyes, glancing sideways as she knelt beside him on the stairs to the throne. "Aside the fact that we can't be killed, literally, I believe he would roast us in the eternal fires, and in the end, Janos would eat us, probably." She fluffed her wings, smoothing them down. In the fire-light, they almost appeared velvet; blood red and lustrous. Down here, in their realm, their true forms flourished. Sharp and strong wings; black skin stretched over strategically designed skeletal frames, pointed tails that seemed to have minds of their own, and beautifully dangerous horns on their heads. They had taken Earthly appearances to mix with the soggy and irritating atmosphere up there. (All but Azazel, who was enjoying himself too much in his true form. He said the demon inside himself was too egoistic to change.)

"Hey you all!" Janos whispered from the other side, glancing at them. "I won't be that selfish; I would humbly share my feast with my prince." He gave a pearly white smile that reflected off the torch-fire of the throne room. But his eyes- they were dark, unending pits, just like the wraith he was.

They could hear footsteps, and they humbly bowed their heads, all conversation ceasing.

Leather boots clicked on the polished floor as the Prince of Hell walked to his throne. His wings gently swayed like a dark cape behind him. They were dark, yes. But they weren't carved out of skin like the rest of them. They were feathers, burnt to blackness, and one could still smell traces of sulphur after all these centuries. They draped behind him like his past, unforgotten yet ever-present. Emma had never directly questioned her Prince, but she had heard the stories. They all had.

He was the Fallen.

Erik, he preferred to call himself. It literally meant 'ruler' and that's what he was. He was their creator after all. He was their Prince. He had done so much for them. It was time for remuneration.

Erik walked past his kneeling soldiers and turned, sliding into his gilded throne.

"My Prince," the three soldiers greeted.

Erik tilted his head and honored them back. "Rise," he said in that low tone that sent shivers down Emma's spine. As they rose, her eyes raked up the long legs crossed at the knees, clad in dark leather, up the chiseled body, the jewellery made of exotic stones being the only things that covered his torso. Erik's wardrobe consisted of so many amulets and precious stones hanging around his waist, teeth and bones dangling around his neck, so many feathers and metal chains, that he barely needed a tunic or upper garment to cover himself. Not that Emma minded; Erik had rippling muscles and a waist so narrow that it even made Emma's mouth water. And she was Lust, she was the succubus, for fuck's sake! Not Erik!

All the Seven Sins had different powers to make use of, starting from teleportation, to metabolizing energy, to creating vacuum suctions. Emma could turn into a diamond form –the strongest and most craved precious stone on Earth- just one of her many powers. Erik himself had the ability of magnetic manipulation, and he had harvested his power to different forms all these years, which included drifting himself or moving a non-magnetic body by bending the magnetic force fields when on Earth, gravitating anything metallic closer to him, and sensing even the smallest metallic pin in his vicinity. Emma was pretty sure he was one of the most powerful of the Gifted. Even stronger than all of the angels.

The tapping of Erik's long fingers on his staff (his magical one, the one that he held in his hand -not that Erik was not well-endowed, but let's not focus on that, right now-) brought Emma's attention back to the present. She looked into his eyes- the piercing silver grey orbs were looking at her expectantly, a smirk on his handsome face. She swallowed, stealing a glance at Azazel and Janos.

"Sire," she said, stepping forward. "We couldn't get her."

Erik tilted his head to the side, one eyebrow rising in amusement. The ghost of his smirk was still there on his face.

"I apologize, my lord. But she is very powerful."

Erik stood, taking three long strides to stand in front of Emma, tapping his staff on the floor as he walked. The sounds echoed in the vast hall. He leaned to her, placing one finger beneath her chin. "Stronger than you, my love?" He asked, tilting her face towards his, silver eyes smoldering. Emma started feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden. Well, anyone would, knowing that they were attempting to fool the Prince of Hell.

Janos stepped forward, "Her powers are unusual, Sire. She can actually manipulate our powers."

"Hmm," Erik's gaze left Emma, "what do you propose we do?"

"We can't abandon her to them, my Lord," Azazel said. "I think we should have her on our side. And for that-" he paused as Erik stepped close to him. He swallowed his fear, and continued. "It would be the best if your Highness went and talked to the child himself."

Erik stood back, looking at the fire in the chandeliers. His eyes followed the brightest flame, dancing in its own light.

"Very well," he said at last. "I'll see what I can do." He turned back to the three Sins at his stairs. "Good work, gentlemen, and Emma. That'll be all for now."

They bowed and turned, taking their leave. But before they had crossed even half the length of the hall, they heard the fluttering of feathered wings. Emma turned and saw that the throne was empty again, a few black feathers floating down to the ground.

Azazel looked at her with uncertainty.

"It'll work, okay?" she nodded, with a tight, assuring smile.


	5. Chapter 4 The Dreamcatcher

The sun still shone in just that perfect angle, electrifying his eyes. His bright, blue eyes.

Erik watched as Charles stepped into the lush grass beside the flowering magnolia tree, the greenery soft and wet with dew underneath his bare feet. His snowy wings, spread wide open, now folded back neatly, a few feathers falling. It was early in the morning, not a single soul awake, and the air was unpolluted. Erik could see him breathe in the freshness, gently smiling towards the blue sky.

Charles stilled, as if he could feel Erik's presence without even seeing him. The angel turned around, and his eyes met with Erik's, leaning against the wall. Clad in his dark coat, one of his legs propped against the wall and arms crossed at his chest. A black fedora shaded his eyes, but Erik sensed that Charles could still feel his eyes on him.

"Ever the show-off, Charles," he said with a teasing smile.

"Erik," Charles' smile was sad. A wave of memories crashed against his mind, but Charles swallowed back his feelings, burying the ache in his heart, Erik could see that.

In another life, Charles would have retaliated, said that Erik was the one born to show off, and laughed away- a pure, carefree laugh echoing with the chirping of the birds. Right now, he just stood in tense silence.

Erik wanted to scream. Rip off the stupid pink tree in the background, and tear off the green grass around them, and paint the blue sky black, because they all were so pale in comparison to Charles' electric blue eyes, the sun lighting them up as if they were luminous. Eyes, so blank and sad right now. And Erik knew, it was because of him.

Instead Erik blinked back his tears. He had no time for tears. That was another life; there was no going back to Charles' side again. They didn't want the same things, Charles had said that himself. Sometime in the beginning of the end, Erik wondered whether he should just leave everything, forget everything that happened and go back. To Charles. But then he saw his children, as he affectionately called his allies and followers, suffering in this realm; the helpless, wounded ones being exploited by the emotionless humans. He saw the Angels mercilessly slaughter them. He saw their helplessness and their vulnerability, and he knew that they needed him. He had his responsibilities, and he had to resume the role of their leader, not the unsure, confused, broken monster that he was.

Besides, he was sure that even if he did go back, Charles wouldn't forgive him for all his sins, for all the wrongs he had done, to him.

Erik tilted his head, letting sunlight fall into his eyes after a long time. Though to him, Charles, standing against the sun, the rays silhouetting his body, shone brighter than the sun itself. His brunette hair still shone golden in the morning light. The daring breezes kissed his skin, caressing the delicate cloth that was fortunate enough to cover his body.

"Looking good, sweetheart," Erik said, lowering his voice. He knew he shouldn't risk what was going on between them. But he couldn't stop himself. He needed to know how Charles would react. Did Charles still miss him, even after all these centuries? Did Charles still think about him, everyday and every night, just like he did? "But a bit out of fashion for the humans, don't you think?"

Charles looked down to the white robe he had donned before traversing down to Earth. Erik wondered why he was wearing that and not his loincloth. True, Erik wouldn't have minded Charles in that little piece of cloth. Was Charles expecting Erik? Erik knew that Charles must've known that one of his hellish minions would be inevitable. But had he known from before that Erik would come?

"Very well," Charles said, closing his eyes.

Erik saw the white cloth slowly transform into trousers, an off-white shirt, a sweater, and a dull grey coat with patches at the elbow.

"Really Charles? Like this isn't outdated? You look like an Oxford professor. From last century," he said sarcastically.

"Why, you look like James Bond yourself!" Charles replied, the hint of a real smile sneaking into his features. "…Or, no! I know! That sparkly vampire who was allergic to the sun, all you need are some black sunglasses."

"He wasn't allergic, he actually sparkled." Erik said, amused. "But may I have the delight in knowing why you know about these brainless earthly movies?"

"I could ask the same thing about you, Erik," Charles asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's hilarious, they way they took it seriously," Erik muttered, trying to ignore the jolt of electricity that shot through him when he heard his name on Charles' lips -the way it sounded, gently rolling off that rich accent- "and so are your elbow patches. Really?"

"What!" Charles frowned like he was offended. "At least it is better than the cloak you're wearing!"

"Hey! This is called fashion! And I know I'm looking better than the nerd-bookworm you have dressed up like."

"Are not!"

"I am!"

"No!"

"Yes, Charles, yes!"

Charles laughed, and it sounded so natural. This whole- this experience- this bickering away like five year olds. They belonged together, side by side, saving the world. Together.

It reminded Erik of the numerous conversations and disagreements they had before The War; instead of sorting them out like the grown-up adults they were, they somehow always ended up with single-word retaliations like 'na-ah' and 'ah-huh!'

Charles suddenly paused, as if remembering something, and his smile faded away.

Erik sobered up, looking at the expressions changing on Charles' face. They came back to reality, away from the dream-like bubble they had just created, where they had no worries, no duties holding them back. Where they were not arch-nemesis, and just good friends, like old times. Where they worked side by side, not against each other.

Erik never took Charles as his enemy; they merely believed in different things.

They wanted the same thing this time, Erik noticed ironically. The girl, he recalled, remembering his mission. Charles seemed to have remembered his as well.

"Heading to the same direction?" Erik asked, to which Charles slowly nodded.

Erik walked to him, and then turned towards the road to MacTaggart's apartments. Extending an arm towards the obvious direction, he asked, "Shall we, for old time's sake?"

Charles nodded, smiling ever so slightly, and joined Erik. Standing this close to him, even after all this time, Erik felt comfort swirling down his spine. His heart was beating slightly faster, but it didn't outshine the calmness under his skin. The air felt charged. He shook his head; Charles always had this effect on him. Charles filled up the static space so perfectly, Erik didn't expect anyone else to fit in.

Together they approached the sleeping town, just like old times.


	6. Chapter 5 Dancing on Needles

"Hello, my name is Charles Xavier-" Charles paused.

"And I am Erik Lehnsherr," Erik continued.

"And we're here to talk about Maya," Charles finished.

Their speeches flowed easily and in sync with each other, as if they had rehearsed a hundred times. In reality, they had.

They used their earthly aliases, standing next to the door of Moira's apartment, instead of their real forms. Since it didn't work with his allies, Charles had talked Erik into trying like normal humans. Plus, they couldn't just barge in and steal away the child. To Erik's disappointment, there were laws, and one of them proclaimed that once a Gifted child took shelter and claimed someone's word, like Maya had, he or she had to have the permission of the guardian to leave. Or else, even the mighty Prince of Hell, or highest ranking Archangel couldn't take him or her away.

"Oh, yes, please come in," Moira, who looked like she hadn't slept well for the past few days, said, ushering them inside. The two men stepped into the well furnished apartment, looking around for the small child. Erik couldn't see her, but yes, he felt her. And Hell! Emma was right; this one was quiet powerful.

"How can I help you?" she asked once they were comfortably seated in her living room.

Erik had simply wanted to say that they belonged from some law department regarding foster children and get away with the girl. But knowing Charles, who wouldn't lie at any cost, he simply held his tongue and let Charles do the talking. Anyways, this human was already pissing him off, (even if all she did was breathe). What? He just didn't like their irritating stench, okay? And their over smart attitude. And their helplessness. And their selfish exploitations. Their groundless ego. Yup, he could make a mile-long list of those things.

Fine. Fine. So, he didn't like humans at all. So what? Sue him? He was the Prince of Hell after all. He couldn't be, well… damned, you know? He mentally smirked, absently sensing all the metal in the room. Victorian designs; a lot of metal structures, grills, floor lamps...

By this time Charles had already said something Charles-y, and Erik could see that the smelly creature had already fallen under his spell. Right, right. The usual routine. Probably talking about the weather, or her 'lovely eyes' or something.

By the way, her name is Moira, you know, not 'smelly creature', said a voice in his head. Erik snapped his head to Charles' direction, but the angel remained deeply engrossed in whatever the smelly creature was saying.

Are you reading my mind? Erik asked, surprised. Actually, he didn't say it out loud, he just thought very hardly. It's been a long time since anyone dared to peek in his mind.

Charles said something cheesy to the smel-to Moira again, but this time stole a glance towards Erik.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, Charles whispered in his head. You were too loud. But I promise, it won't happen again.

Just like Charles had promised him the time they worked together. And he knew that Charles had stayed out of his head that time. Maybe Charles had faltered now because they were meeting after such a long time?

Was Charles really not listening anymore?

Charles? Erik thought, focusing on Charles. Blue eyes didn't look at him.

Hey, Cha-arles? Can you hear me?

No reply.

I will still call this creature a smelly thing.

Charles didn't seem to listen, so Erik tried something else.

You, the goody-goody one with feathers! Yes you, you look like a pigeon!

Nothing. (Really, a pigeon? Why couldn't he think of something better to say?)

Charles, you've gone fat!

Yeah, yeah, with that 'apple of the eye' attitude of yours you could win anyone's heart, let alone this smelly thing.

Borr-ring! Who says 'groovy' anymore? C'mon! No one talks like that!

Charles?

Charles laughed at something Moira said, and Erik's eyes narrowed into slits.

You look like a homeless with that stupid haircut!

And you have no sense of fashion.

Really, whats up with that oversized sweater?

And those shoes, really, ew! They are disgraceful!

Hey. I really want to kiss you hard. Among other things.

Now, where did that come from? But Erik had no time to analyze his situation, as Charles' eyes suddenly flickered towards his, and Erik was gripped in a momentary panic attack. Definitely a heart attack! And he didn't even look like he was forty yet!

Had Charles heard that of all things?

But then Charles looked back to Moira (the smelly creature), and Erik caught something like, "yes…this is Erik, my partner…actually he doesn't like to speak much, but I think you're right." He wasn't sure what Moira (smelly creature) had said earlier, so he didn't know what Charles was agreeing to.

"So, how are you two related to Maya?" Moira asked, looking at Erik.

"Actually I-uh," he looked to Charles for help, because all this while he hadn't been paying attention to a single line of the story that Charles had fabricated. But before he could react, he heard a gasp of surprise to his left.

"You two!"

Erik turned his head to see a small girl standing next to the coffee table. She had almost impossibly bright orangish hair, and violet eyes with the color of a tempest. She was beautiful, and more than that, she was strong. So strong, that Erik could feel her power radiate off in waves.

"Oh, Maya, do you know these gentlemen?" Moira asked.

The girl nodded, her curls bouncing. "I knew they would be coming," she said with a knowing glint in her eyes. She then looked from Charles to Erik, and a wide smile broke into her features.

"Papa!" she called to Erik, and Erik simple stared. What? The girl, barely three years old, ran to Erik and gave a full body hug to his knees.

"Uhm?" Erik couldn't think. What? Was she really his?

No. He was sure of it. If that were the case, he would have known. But then why was she claiming to be his child?

Maybe she had finally recognized his authority? His power? Maybe she knew, or realized, that he was the Prince of Hell? Yes, finally!

He looked at Charles with a smirk on his face. Erik had won without even trying! Now he needed to get back before he changed his mind and Charles' bottomless eyes hypnotized him again and-

"Daddy!" the girl called out and –it was not for Erik! She called out to Charles, and ran across the coffee table and gave the same knee hug to Charles as well.

Now Charles looked confused. At first, he looked taken aback, yes, but somehow accepting. As if he was expecting her to be one of Erik's harpies. There was a shade of disappointment there in his eyes, and it must be solely because the girl would go with Erik, right? Not because it also meant that Erik had slept with yet another mortal, and Maya was a tangible proof of that. Surely, Charles must've been aware of Erik …fooling around like that…but seeing a child in front of his eyes…it just. Well.

It was all wishful thinking, Erik knew. Why would Charles be disappointed in him if he slept with others? Why would Charles care?

Charles looked at the girl draped on his knees. Then he looked at Erik.

Erik was looking at him with accusing eyes, and Charles widely shook his head, panic in his eyes. So this was Charles' child? This meant that Charles had- and Erik had no clue and- Erik felt resignation suddenly wash over him. Why would Charles talk to him about it, after all?

"Oh," Moira said slowly. "Oh. You guys are together. Like that!"

"No, wait! I never-" Charles began. And then he paused, going mute.


	7. Chapter 6 Gilded Cages

"Y-You cant do this!" Charles exclaimed, backing against the wall. Erik didn't say anything, he kept walking towards Charles, misty eyes sparkling like diamonds in the dim light.

"S-Stop!" Charles closed his eyes, face turning sideways as Erik almost pressed into him. He was so close that Charles could feel the heat coming off his skin. Just inches away from touching. Charles could smell Erik, the spicy fragrance, the burning sulfur and metallic tang. Biting his lips, Charles tried to melt against the wall as Erik pressed yet another step.

Erik huffed in his ear, breath warm against the cool skin. Charles could hear his blood ringing in his ears, his face going hot, his breathing labored. He could feel temptation taking over.

He heard the clicking of a switch, and then he felt the loss of heat -Erik moving back. When he opened his eyes, the lights of the room were on. Erik had his back towards Charles.

"Don't flatter yourself," Erik said in a tone that Charles couldn't read. He rummaged through the drawers, looking for something. Then he grabbed something and walked away, without looking back at Charles. "I was just looking for the lights," he muttered.

Charles was not panting anymore, but his back was still pressed against the wall. He blinked, trying to process what just happened.

How did he end up like this?

"So you two are together? Like that?" Moira had asked with a …rather undecipherable expression in her eyes. But Charles wasnt really paying attention to that.

"I never-!" Charles had tried to deny what the little girl had said with half formed statements and panic stricken eyes. But what would he say? Look lady, I never slept with anyone before, let alone this handsome devil (literally) sitting here? So I DON'T know why this girl is claiming to be my-his-our daughter. Yes? He looked at Erik, as if he needed to come clean. As if he needed to prove himself innocent.

But Erik was already shaking his head, his eyes calculating. Charles could slowly see the disbelief being replaced by acceptance. Charles saw Erik grit his teeth, and then the Prince got up.

"I should leave," he had said without meeting Charles' eyes. Charles got up too, and so did Moira, but none of them was sure what to say next. It was Maya, who ran to Erik and embraced his legs again.

"No, Papa! Don't leave!" she said with a wavering voice. Erik glared down to her orange curls, unsure how to proceed.

He huffed, and muttered something like 'get aside', but then the girl said, "Oh, you don't want me to come with you, isn't that so, Papa?" She looked up with her wide eyes, wet and shimmering.

Erik paused dead in his tracks. Did this- did this girl really know why they were here? Charles really wanted to know why she was behaving like this. He tried to peek into her mind, but there was a layer of pure power around her, turning her thoughts to unreadable static for Charles.

Before anyone could say anything though, Maya ran to Charles again.

"Daddy! Won't you ask Papa to stay?" she asked in a small, concerned voice.

"S-Stay?" Charles croaked. "But I-you! …I don't understand?"

"What, Daddy, you too?" Tears spilled down her pretty face, as effortlessly as rain drops, and eyes searching, she ran to Moira.

"Moira! I don't want them to be like this! Tell them to stay!" The little girl said between sobs.

"Oh my," Moira said, kneeling down to pat her tiny head. "Do you guys live in this town?" She asked them.

Erik looked like he was about to say yes, (An inner instinct? An instant reaction to lie? Charles could see it on his face that he was about to lie), but Charles, the truth-abiding warrior that he was, said no.

"So, where are you guys staying? And for how long?"

"Nowhere. We just came to pick up Maya, and then we decided to leave," Erik said before Charles could open his mouth. The look on his face said fight or flight.

"Oh," Moira turned to Maya again, taking gently. "Sweetheart, you should go back to your fathers. You don't want them to be upset, do you?"

"They already are," Maya said in a small voice. "They are not talking to each other. And I will not leave you."

Maybe Moira didn't catch it, but Charles had seen Maya's eyes sparkle…almost as if she was gazing into her soul, a look too mature for her age. Or had Charles imagined it? He probably had; his mind was getting hazy.

"Okay," Moira replied in an ordinary tone, thinking of a different approach. "You know that jar on the kitchen table? The one with the pink flowers? I have some chocolate cookies in there. I think you should go get them! I'll talk to your fathers in the mean time. Is that okay, sweetie?"

"Cookies?" Maya asked. Moira nodded and guided her to the next room. She came back with a frown on her face.

"I know I might be poking my nose into something I shouldn't, but if you force her now, it might really leave an impact on her," she said as gently as she could

"What do you think we're supposed to do?" Erik asked, gritting her teeth. It was supposed to be sarcastic, a rhetoric question, Charles could see that. But Moira replied nonetheless.

"Well, I was looking for tenants for the flat on the second floor, and since it'd be just for a few days- until you guys get everything sorted out-I think you both should stay. You will be staying in this town, right? So why somewhere else, when you can stay here?" Moira suggested.

"I don't think that'd be necessary," Charles had put in politely.

Charles had refused, right? So how did he end up agreeing? Why did he let Moira believe that they were together? She probably thought that they were married or something, and were going through a terrible fight, and it scared their daughter, so she ran away because they were careless. And now she was scared, and won't go back with them until they made up, so Moira urged them to stay for a while.

Charles initially thought that it won't be much of a problem, though on the inside, he knew he was lying to himself. Staying in the same plane as Erik? Yeah, like that could solve anything.

He didn't want to this! He didn't even want to look Erik in his eyes. The pain was too much to bear. It's true that he didn't hate Erik; he believed he was indifferent, though. Charles disapproved the way Erik thought, the way Erik worked. And he knew that he wouldn't be able to convince Erik to give up his ways. Whenever he faced Erik, though, Charles could see his own failures. That he failed to show Erik the right side of humanity. That he let Erik think like this. That he let Erik work like this. That he let Erik fall.

He should have looked over his pain and convinced Erik when he still had the time. What was that momentary physical pain, when compared to the torture his heart had to bear every time he looked into those silver eyes? He tried to cover up his pain with different emotions- indifference, professionalism…and even frustration, when he sometimes lost his composure. But that was rare.

Erik was highly unhappy with his decision too, Charles could see that in the way he muttered under his breath while they climbed up the stairs to their flat.

What? It wasn't Charles' fault (entirely!) He wanted to get Maya, and if that meant staying on Earth for a few days, he didn't mind. Erik was grunting as if it was his fault and it was really starting to bother Charles now. Along with that, his pent up emotions were scratching under his skin.

"Oof!" Charles huffed as they both tried to walk in the small doorframe together. Charles ignored the spark he felt where Erik touched him, his musky fragrance, his lukewarm heat, the light in his dewy eyes.

"Let me enter, I came here first!" Charles said, frowning when he saw the grimace on Erik's face.

"Well, technically I came here first, so you should let me in first, Charles!" Erik retaliated.

"No, Erik, I'll go in first." Charles tried to squeeze in. If he turned just a little to the left, maybe he could move.

"Who are you to decide that?" Erik asked, turning.

With a jerk, they both tripped in, stumbling, and their arms flailing. After they steadied themselves they looked at each other with whatever dignity they had left, and then turned to the opposite directions with a "hmph!" each.

That's how the whole day had gone; muttering and disagreeing and quarrelling and making faces at each other like they were six year olds again. Charles left for Paradise once, near midday; he had an important meeting with the Seraphims, and then he had a training session with the newer Archangels. When he came back with twilight, muscles aching but heart unyielding, Erik had disappeared. Probably busy as well.

Charles decided that he'd end it, all of this, whatever was happening, tomorrow. Somehow or the other. He'd think more on the how part later. He had a small talk with Moira around dinner, to find out how much she knew about Maya. She was under an illusion that Moira was their runaway child, just as Charles had feared. On being asked, he told her that Erik had gone out for dinner, and had noticed the disappointment in her eyes.

It was well past midnight, and Erik wasn't back yet. Maybe he didn't plan on returning tonight, Charles thought, curling up on the couch, with some documents in his hands. He had some important scriptures to revise, and they wouldn't take long, he thought, cracking his spine. He needed to do something with the ache in his lower back that sometimes disturbed him. Then again, the training session had been tougher than usual today; he needed some rest.


	8. Chapter 7 The Lovers

"My king." A gentle caress of slender fingers travelled up the length of Erik's arm as he stood by the window. He was in his bedroom, in the highest tower of his castle. The kingdom below glowed like molten gold with the eternal fires of Inferno. Far off in the west, the blood-red water of a river flowed as slow as death herself. The river reflected no light, even with its stillness and appeared to be a black void in the distance.

Dark tresses brushed his other arm, and Erik looked down to Tempest, the young nymph princess currently nipping on his bicep. He called her 'Angel', because of her moth-like wings. Also because she liked the irony, it was her personal taunt to the angels. Tonight however, he didn't feel like it.

"Master," Angel looked up through her glittering eyelashes, crimson eyes shining slyly. "Please, let us serve you," her painted lips pouted slightly.

"Yes, my king, we're very eager," said Shadowcat, latched onto his other arm, moaning erotically, gently tugging him to the bed. 'Kitty' as he often called her in bed, had an innocent face to fool anyone. But in bed, the siren inside her surfaced, turning her untamed and passionate. Erik let them walk him, mind too busy to actually process what was happening.

The women smelled wild, like a forest on fire. Erik could smell their arousal. He could taste their excitement, their hormones going fanatical as they touched more and more.

Angel's fingers left burning trails down his chest. This was how a nymph's body worked; they'd drive their prey insane with the burn of arousal, with their touches, their smells, their moans; leave them desperate and aroused and wanting.

Sirens on the other hand, tricked them with innocent faces and hypnotizing smiles. Their tantalizing orbs for eyes controlled their prey until they themselves begged to be taken.

Erik wasn't one of their preys though. These two were the princesses of the richer families living under his reign. And they had come willingly to his palace, to serve him and his needs. It was an honor to serve the Prince of Hell, especially in bed.

Additionally, Erik had bestowed upon them the titles of Sloth, to the nymph,and Envy, to the siren. They were two of the seven deadly sins. The Dark Prince had handpicked the best of his subjects for these trustworthy posts. And to beckon all sorts of entities to the dark side, he had made sure that all the Sins were important members of different houses. Emma, Lust, was a succubus. The succubus, the queen of the house, really. Azazel, Greed, was a demon. Janos, Gluttony, was a wraith. And leaving Sloth and Envy aside, Wrath was a dragon and Pride was a vampire. The Supreme Seven. The Seven Deadly Sins.

They served him with all they had. They were like the elite members of the Brotherhood he had formed, fulfilling the missions he assigned them.

Tonight, however, the women didn't have the desired effect on him. The room felt hot and stuffed, all of a sudden. It was suffocating. It was maddeningly claustrophobic. His body, out of nowhere, was suddenly craving for something cool.

Cool, like pale skin dripping with cold dew drops from Paradise. Starlight dancing like drops of liquid light in silky chocolate curls to the rhythm of the breeze. Like the pastel body which smelled like snow and felt like satin. The ice sculptures in his crystalline blue eyes, which turned from sapphire, to azure, to light violet in the correct light. Eyes that shone with a light of their own; neon flames, electrified. Touches that were selfless and chaste. Compassion that was pure love.

Not the hot, seductive kisses the nymph was planting under his ear. Nor the wild bites and licks the siren spread down his chest.

"I apologize, ladies," Erik said, standing abruptly. "Not tonight. Something important came up."

He had a brilliant idea.

Shady wings spread open as the women stared with the mouths hanging. This had never happened before! The Prince knew he had never left without taking care of them. But he also knew that they knew better than to object to their sovereign's decisions.

The women heard the flapping of feathers, and watched Erik materialize into another world.

Erik however, did not see the nymph give a crooked smile to the siren.

Touches that were pure and chaste.

Erik finally figured out how to defeat Charles without actually hurting him. (Anymore. The War was a bad memory, and Erik refused to think about it.)

Instead he focused on Charles' face when Maya had claimed to be his daughter. The way Charles had reacted when Erik had fooled around with the light switch. (Really, Erik could see perfectly in the dark, but with Charles standing right next to the light switch, Erik found it an opportunity too good to let go. It was a classic trick, it always worked.)

The way Charles still blushed with little closure. The way his breathing hitched. The way the freckles stood out like smiling bridesmaids, excited and awaiting for the groom. The way he got uncomfortable whenever someone stepped into his personal space.

It was all there in front of Erik's eyes. And he had turned a blind eye to it.

Charles was unclaimed. He hadn't slept with anyone, even after all this time.

Erik was determined that if he made Charles really, really uncomfortable, if Erik just somehow made it impossible for Charles to stay with the Prince, together, in that small apartment, Charles would leave without a real fight, which Erik really wanted to avoid. It was harmless, but knowing Charles, Erik was sure that this tactic would be triumphant.

The atmosphere shifted, and the temperatures climbed down. Erik was back in his 'new apartment'. Unfamiliar to the surroundings, he waited for his eyes to adjust. He then looked around for Charles, eager to try out his new plan.

Crestfallen when he didn't find the Archangel in any of the rooms, he finally retreated to the living room.

The fragrance hit him before Erik saw him.

It was a sweet smell, just like the first snowflakes after a long, unforgiving summer, surrounding Erik like mist. Charles was lying on the sofa, one hand placed on his heart, the other hanging down to the floor. Luscious lips parted open, and brown hair tousled over his eyes, Charles looked every inch like the angel he was. Like the paintings of the Greek and Italian artists, a surreal aura glowing around him, like the god of chastity; sleep softening the edges of his soul. Charles literally looked younger, and it was hard to imagine how much pain and sacrifice he had actually gone through.

Erik couldn't see the muscled, time-frayed, burdened heart of a warrior -the aura Charles held when he was awake, but only a delicate, porcelain-like body, slowly moving up and down in sleep's trance.

Erik paused midway, fingers clenching, and then unclenching. Maybe his plans could wait for a night.

As he approached the sleeping figure, he looked at the sheets of paper embracing Charles from all directions. He was about to pick them up, when he stopped. These were manuscripts from Paradise, uncontaminated and pristine. Bitter realization hit him, when he realized that only dwellers of heaven could touch them. If they got polluted by anyone else, especially the Prince of Hell of all people, they would crumble to dust.

They must be important, or else Charles wouldn't have brought them down to Earth. Much as Erik wanted Charles to give up Maya, he didn't want to be an actually inconvenience to the Archangel. Directly, at least.

Erik looked around, and his eyes landed on the small bird showpiece from the coffee table. Erik concentrated on it, and lifted it with his powers. For one impossible moment, it wavered, and clanged back to the glass surface.

Charles shifted in his slumber, but didn't wake.

That was- that was really- Erik was surprised. This had never happened before! His powers never behaved like that! He never had glitches like that, especially for a petty metallic bird. In the name of Hell, he could control planes and lift bridges!

He shook his head, and then went back to work with a frown. This time, the bird flew up smoothly, and folded like cloth when Erik commanded it to. Using it like forceps, Erik picked up all the papers and stacked them neatly on the table. He placed the bird on it as a paper weight.

Truly, he'd forever deny to his associates that he carried a blanket for an Archangel, like he currently was. But nonetheless, he tucked in Charles gingerly, placed a cushion carefully under his head, and turned off the lights.

Popping his knuckles over his head, Erik stretched, moving to one of the bedrooms. It seemed that Charles' sleep was infective, as if his telepathy was leaking the drowsiness. Erik thought of going back to his palace, but then decided against it. If Charles was staying here, Erik would do the same. It'd only be fair. (Yeah, yeah, lame reason, Erik knew that somewhere in his mind. He just… didn't want to leave Maya alone with Charles, …A valid reason, yes?) A small nap wouldn't do much harm.

Besides, he had some important things to analyze. Things like why his powers had wavered, even if for half a second. Also, the fluffy, domestic behavior was really eating to him like an itch under his skin. He was the Prince of Hell, the personification of Evil, damnit! He wasn't supposed to tuck in angels in their sleep. Or clean away their things and arrange them.

Or fall for them, for that matter.


	9. Chapter 8 A Stellar Conspiracy

Charles?

It was a gentle, curious voice, calling to him from somewhere faraway. He didn't actually hear it through his ears, it was a small sound whispering somewhere in his mind, he numbly registered.

Charles frowned in his sleep, his senses slowly awakening with the rising sun. His mind was starting to get aware of everything around him. The hardness of the bed, so unfamiliar to his own bed in the clouds. That unidentified spicy fragrance; masculine and exotic, drifting all around him. And that heat.

There was a heat, so strong that it was almost tangible, enveloping him. And the weight on him, almost as if another body was-

Charles' eyes shot open, and he looked straight into steely grey eyes, a supernova trapped in those crystal orbs, only a breath away from his.

"Oh," a husky voice said, and Charles felt warm breath on his lips. It smelled like the woods in autumn, like cinnamon and spices, like the first fire in the fireplace. His eyes darted to said lips and back to the eyes again.

"Erik, what-?" Charles croaked, but stopped when Erik huffed, sending another gust of warmth to his lips.

"Good morning," Erik said, almost too innocently, "did I wake you?"

Well, yes! Charles wanted to scream. But Erik was too close for comfort, hands on either side of the sleeping angel, so Charles tried to sink into the cushions of the sofa. He was too mortified to speak, and he felt his face heat up. The only thing separating Erik's bare chest from Charles' was a thin blanket, and Charles could feel the heat through it; the cloth didn't make any difference. Funny thing, grateful as he was, where did the blanket come from?

"Hmm," Erik frowned, and ignoring Charles' obvious discomfort, shifted over the angel, so that now the Prince was completely on top of him. Charles' attention was diverted to the midnight wings that were gently brushing against his side, as if seeking his attention, when he felt warm –no, hot, absolutely scorching- fingers caressing his sides.

"Erik!" Charles squeaked and jumped, rising on his elbows and crawling back.

"Wait!" Erik said after a momentary pause, with that innocent expression ever-present on his face. He looked like the Hunter's Moon, perched between midnight wings. He edged towards Charles, straddling him again. Charles tried to lean back against the arm rest, moving as far away as he could in that small space, slipping his legs free from underneath Erik, and folding them closer to his body. Wrong move, he realised as Erik raised an eyebrow, as if in amusement, looking up from between Charles' legs.

The angel tried sitting up, ignoring the obvious parts of his body that were beginning to like this proximity.

Black wings spread open for balance as Erik rose to his knees, his face now level to Charles'. Charles was sure he could see the autumn constellations-Andromeda and Cassiopeia- in his eyes.

Erik was so close, he was almost in Charles' lap, sliding between his legs, and Charles could take it no more. The angel shut his eyes, turning his face away. Time seemed to cease as he heard his own heart sound like a midsummer's storm- all thunder and rambling. He felt Erik's breath on his ear, and a shiver travelled down his spine. Erik large hands now spread palm-first on his chest, and Charles felt the scorching heat through his thin robe. The hands slowly travelled downward, fingers caressing every inch they could reach. His nipples got a special handling from the calloused thumbs, and Charles let out a small whimper, feeling dry electricity surge through him..

While the hands travelled even further down, Charles felt Erik nipping his ear lobe. The pain-pleasure was fresh to him, and it was all Charles could think of in his early morning haze. His mind was unable to process what was happening. He gripped Erik's biceps, fingernails digging into the skin when Erik's tongue traced out the bite. Charles felt the heat travel down from his face and spread all over his body.

The hands moved even further down, moving along the curves and ridges, fanning at Charles' sides. Erik held him at the waist, and Charles was sure he'd have hand prints burnt on his skin. Then the hands slipped under his clothes and Charles sucked in a deep breath, nose brushing against Erik's neck. He should stop Erik; this was not supposed to happen. He knew he should push the Prince away, tell him to discontinue, just dosomething. But Charles found himself unable to move. Unable to do anything but enjoy the warmth of another body. The right fragrance to his olfactory senses, the right texture underneath his fingertips, the perfect sight to his eyes.

One hand moved upwards, in the small space between Charles' back and the armrest of the sofa. Then it moved to the side, slowly, worshipping the skin with the touches. The other moved under his waistband, reaching down, oh so close, fingers flexing possessively over the curve of his hips. Charles felt goose bumps rise on his entire body.

"Erik," Charles breathed, voice trembling. He rested his forehead on the broad shoulders, biting his lips to refrain from screaming. He heard Erik chuckling in his ears –oh, music to his ears- and all of a sudden, Charles felt the loss of heat as he heard Erik shuffling to stand up. His body moved involuntarily towards the heat that was Erik.

When Charles opened his eyes, Erik was sitting on the opposite side of the sofa, long legs crossed at the knees, with a smug expression on his face.

"Got it," Erik said proudly, revealing the prized possession in his hand –it took a moment for Charles to register that it was the remote controller for the television. The smile on his face was predatory. "Searched all over for it…I knew it had to be on the couch," Erik was muttering, but Charles didn't hear him over the ringing in his own ears.

Switching on the screen, Erik stood up and stretched, almost as if putting on a show for Charles. For a few mortified seconds, Charles stared open-mouthed at the rippling muscles of the tanned back.

Erik stood in the middle of the room, legs spread in a pose of dominance, dark satin pants hanging low on his waist. Sunlight lazily streamed through the open windows, creating a fiery golden halo around his midnight wings. Even though Erik had his back towards him, Charles didn't miss the mouth-watering size of his waist.

Charles shook his head and snapped out of his daze. "Erik! What in the world-?"

"What?" Erik asked innocently, but his eyes said otherwise. "You don't like this channel? I understand. Entertainment here on Earth is just…" he trailed off, shaking his head as if he was really contemplating the topic. He surfed through the channels, clicking his tongue at the monotony.

"Not that!" Charles retaliated. "If you needed the remote, you could've just asked me!" As if Erik was really interested in watching television!

"Hmm," Erik turned, tilting his head. "But I didn't want to wake you."

Unable to think of a proper reply, Charles simply stared incredulously. Wake? Charles was sure he wouldn't be sleeping properly for the next few days. Or years.

"No, Mystique, you don't understand!" Charles whispered. When a few other angels gave him sideways glances, he turned back to using his powers.

It's not…I can't explain, but it's different. You know? He whispered in his sister's mind.

Why is it bothering you so much? Can this not wait till after this meeting is over? Mystique asked, raising her eyebrows.

You're right. I'm sorry, I just. This hasn't happened before. I-I'm sorry. Charles looked away. What was happening? He had never been so distracted before.

No, he couldn't have a diversion right now. He had his duties, so many responsibilities. He had to concentrate on them. There was a new case regarding the guardians for the Silver Gates, one of the old ones had been wounded in a tarry with an escapee. And then, being the highest ranking Archangel, Charles had to check the weekly accomplishments of the Elite Seven. Oh, and then they had to make preparations for the upcoming congregation with the Four Horsemen.

Charles led out an inaudible sigh. Maybe he could-

"Charles!" Mystique hissed.

"What?" Charles asked, lowering his voice.

"I've been calling you from such a long time. Were you even listening?" His sister asked.

"No," Charles admitted, shame coloring his cheeks.

"I said, it's going to be alright, dear brother. Let's focus on this meeting now, and after this is over, we will discuss what's troubling you, yes?" She asked gently, to which Charles nodded. If he had one confidante in any of the Worlds, one person he could trust, it was Mystique, so much like the sister he never had.

He then concentrated on what Hank was saying, taking about a new beacon that would light up whenever a Gifted was born to Earth.

"How long do you think this will work?" Phoenix asked looking down to Earth. She saw Maya look up to the Heavens, as if staring right back at her. Phoenix, with the fiery red hair, was Uriel, the Watcher. She was the beacon of the angels, and she had the ability of sight, she could look into any of the planes. Sunlight lit up her hair, and her eyes glowed with the nervous light of mischief, like a prank that a child played against her parents.

Charles was her mentor, and sentinel, and she didn't consider him lesser than her guardian. So she consoled herself and suppressed the bubbling in her stomach when Mystique said that it was all for the better good.

Charles had left Mystique's cloud a few hours ago, confessing all his troubles. Mystique, like the good sister she was, counseled him with her best advice. She had encouraged him, told him not to pay attention to Erik fooling around, and boosted his confidence in recruiting Maya. Then after wishing him all the luck in the world, she had watched him fly down to Earth after he'd promised that this mission won't take long.

However, Mystique hadn't mentioned her part in the assignment. She couldn't directly lie, couldn't; lies tasted like bitter vile on angel's tongues, burned their eyes, choked their breaths. It was a tangible entity, suffocating them, whenever they lied. But hiding something, hypothetically, wasn't the same as lying, so she could work with that.

"Secrets have been known to last since time itself," Anna said, unconsciously agreeing to Mystique's mentality. The silver streaks in her hair flowed in the light wind, her eyes full of clandestine as she looked back to the two women. "Trust me, I know," she added with a wink.

'Rogue', as the other angels called Anna fondly, was Raziel, the Keeper of Secrets. Mystique could always remember her saying that secrets were like touches; and Rogue had the ability to know all your deepest secrets with one touch, as if all your memories, your experiences, your skills, your powers flowed to her through physical contact.

After Charles had left for Earth, earlier, the two Archangels, Rogue and Phoenix, had immediately flown to Mystique's cloud, eager for updates. And so Mystique informed them about the progression, though unclear with the explicit details, which Charles had somehow mumbled out, blushing like a bride, and Mystique had listening, biting back a grin. She hadn't seen her brother open up like this for a long time. The way Charles was blushing, and stammering, like they were children again, a lifetime ago. She had refrained from teasing him with much difficulty, maintaining her soberness and sophistication. She hoped that the Deities would bless them and their plan would succeed.

Initially, Mystique had been reluctant to share her plan with others. But she needed all the help she could. With Hank's suggestion, she had invited the other five Archangels to her conspiracy, and to her surprise they all had agreed. They all had, in some way or the other, a debt to pay to Charles.

Mystique smiled, absently looking at the cloud rolling like mist at her feet. Charles, always doing good for others. Karma had to bless him one day or the next. And as the angel of Justice, she knew that Karma spared no souls, not even the oldest creations. Justice serves, in one form or the other. If you do good, then goodness shall befall upon you in the end, no matter how many pits you have to cross in the way. And it was finally Charles' time to bask in the sunlight he had earned for himself, all these centuries.

Each and every soul taking part in this assignment was important, Mystique knew, even the ones condemned to Hell. The wheels were rolling, maybe not in the direction they had expected it to, but in the end, they would reach their destination.


	10. Chapter 9 Lullabies

_It was dark, and Erik was all alone._

_There were no stars in the sky._

_There were so many of them. They wouldn't listen to him. They took her away. Erik screamed. He cried. He reached out for his mother. But they wouldn't listen. They dragged him away, across the Wall._

_The rain was icy cold. Chilling his very bones. The wind bit his soul, but he didn't care. He thrashed against his captors. But he was too young, too weak, too nothing. With all his might, he jerked both of his arms together –and pulled free. But his victory was short-lived. Strong hands caught him once again._

_"Mamma!" He cried out, his voice broken._

_"Erik!" His mother called out, from the other side of the iron. He saw it; the pain, the fear in her eyes. Unforgiving hands clutched her, unyielding and merciless. She didn't have a chance, and deep inside, Erik knew that._

_"No!"_

_Ashy white wings sprung open, taking back his captors with surprise. Erik jumped, leaped, and ran towards his mother. But it was too late. The Gates were closing. His mother followed cue. Her grey wings pushed back her captors, but she was weak. Her feathers were feeble, just like her bony body._

_She all but ran to the Gates, but she must've realized the truth by now. Thin fingers folded along the metal bars, and Erik covered her pale fingers with his own._

_"Erik, it's alright," she said in his native language, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "It'll be alright."_

_"No!" Erik screamed, feeling so desperate and helpless. Please! Was there no one to help him? His vision went blurry with tears, but he wiped them off as the hands came back, pulling him away into the darkness._

_He reached out again, rage and anger making him dizzy. "No!" He screamed again. He wouldn't let the Gates close. He had to do something. He had no hero in his story. He had no one in this whole world, but for his mother, and he wouldn't let them take her away. Please! Someone help him!_

_"Erik! I'm coming!" said a voice from the darkness, but Erik didn't listen. He concentrated on his mother and the closing Gates and the invisible hands. He had to do something._

_He reached for the Gates. And then something unbelievable happened. Through his vision narrowed with rage and tears, he saw the metal sing out to him. The Gates moved an inch, and then another. His captors paused, shocked._

_He saw his mother's eyes widen. Of course she had told him not to expose his powers. But it was too late now. He had no other option. He had to save her._

_Please!_

_The metal in the Gates responded to his beckoning and moved. Just a few more inches, and he'd be able to go through. Suddenly, Erik felt something piercing his neck. He reached back, and pulled out a needle. They-they had given him a sedative! Erik realized as he started to feel dizzy._

_No! He was so close. Please!_

_"You are good for nothing!" The voices chided._

_"This is entirely your fault!"_

_"It's all because of you!"_

_"They caught her because of you, your carelessness, and you know it!"_

_The hands pulled him away again, and this time, Erik couldn't respond. No! He had to save her. Erik tried moving his arms, but his body wouldn't obey. Darkness swallowed his vision, and the last thing he saw was tears in his mother's eyes._

_"It'll be alright, Erik," said a voice. The words were his mother's, but the tone wasn't, and that's all Erik knew._

_It was dark, and Erik was all alone._

_There was no sun in the sky._

_Storm clouds had darkened the atmosphere. Erik was bleeding, but it didn't matter. The Worlds would soon erupt in a war, but Erik didn't care. The Elders would disown him, but he didn't give a damn! Nothing mattered._

_Because the only friend he ever made, the only person in all the Worlds who mattered, lay wounded in his arms. And it was Erik's fault. Cerulean eyes looked up to him, pain and shock swirling in the electric orbs._

_"You did this!" The owner of the electric blue eyes accused him. No! No! It was as if Erik's nightmares were coming back to life. The voices came back._

_" It's your fault entirely; it's all because of you!" The taunting voices said to his mind._

_"No, listen to me," Erik pleaded. "This is not how it will end. Please, listen to me, come with me, and everything will be alright." Erik felt helpless and desperate again. There was no one to help him. The only person who had tried, Erik cut off his wings. Literally. "You and I, we're brothers; we want the same thing." Erik tried to imply so many things in the subtext, hoping that the blue eyes would read his own sapphire eyes._

_"No, my friend," blue eyes huffed. Then winched in pain, and Erik tried to meld the smaller body into his own. Anything to ease the pain. Undo what was done. But it only resulted in the wounded angel moving away. "We don't," the familiar voice declared, the words like poison to Erik's skin."We never wanted the same thing." And then the brunette turned away, eyes spilling all his pain in small cascades._

_Erik heard something shatter in the distance; maybe it was his own crystalline heart._

_Erik took that as goodbye. A lonely tear slipped down his face, but he swallowed back his pain, his heartbreak. After a long moment, he gently laid down the wounded angel, and stood, his body already yearning from the loss of contact. He pulled out his sword, Lucerna, glowing with a golden flame, and gently shoved it in the ground beside the wounded body._

_Erik walked to the edge, feeling a certain gaze piercing his back. He didn't care for the Elders, the others. But he had his honor, and he decided to leave Paradise himself, before they got a chance to chide him._

_All his fault._

_He turned, glancing one last time into the ocean eyes. All he saw was pain and disbelief. Then he turned, and stepping forward, walking off the edge, embraced the Fall headfirst with his arms wide open._

_At first, time slowed down, and Erik watched the colors fade from his life. It was as if he was outside his body, and he saw himself fall from the sky. His golden hair started blackening, as if the friction was painting him. His bright blue eyes faded to a dull grey before closing. He felt like a part of his soul, something important, bleaching away with the friction._

_And then the fall gained momentum. Cold winds gushed by, sounds compiling into a single high pitched blur. Erik felt the friction burning him, pushing against him, threatening to dismantle him. His body ached, everything hurt, and a peculiar odor hit his nose. Something was burning._

_His wings, the strongest set in all of Paradise, were burning with the fall. Erik looked back to Heaven, and saw blackened feathers gliding, leaving a trail behind his body. His body was on fire, his wings were on fire. But it didn't matter, his heart had already crumbled into ash._

_Slowly, the darkness crept up, swallowing all the pain and aches. Erik knew it was a dream, again. But it wouldn't end. It all felt so real, as if it was happening again._

_It was dark, and Erik was all alone._

_"Not alone, my friend. You're not alone."_

_It was dark, and Erik was afraid._

_But then the Gates opened, and light gushed in. Erik shielded his eyes with both of his hands. It was long since he felt this light on his skin, so serene and soothing. He cowered in the corner, suddenly a child again._

_When he opened his eyes, there was a silhouette against the light. Erik didn't have to see the face to recognize the slender frame._

_"Mamma!"_

_Eyes blurry with tears again, he stood and ran to his mother's waiting arms. The embrace felt so tangible, Erik tightened his hold, silently promising never to let go._

_His mother pulled back, smiling through her tears. Then she took him by his hand, and Erik followed blindly. When his mother stopped, Erik walked around her to see where she had brought her._

_It was her Temple, her private corner where she prayed to the Deity that gave them life. She let go of his hand, and Erik panicked. But then he saw her take a candle from the shrine and hand it to him._

_Erik held the light, watching the flame dancing in the darkness._

_"Erik," His mother's gentle voice interrupted his trance, and she motioned him to light the rest of the candles. Her smile was so carefree, as if nothing had happened. Erik smiled back, feeling light-hearted. He helped her light the rest of the room, with tears spilling down his face._

_Erik was not afraid of the dark anymore. For there was no darkness to curse him._

_"Not alone, love. Not alone." The voice was back; broken, but reassuring. Erik felt ghost touches against his temples, as if the wind was caressing his face and smoothing down his hair. The peaceful presence of his Guardian Angel was almost tangible. As if Erik had a hero in his life. Someone to save him. To mend him. An answer to his prayers._

_He looked into the brown eyes of his mother, and for a moment, forgot all his troubles. "Not alone," he said out loud to her._

_His heart calmed down, and this time, the darkness wasn't terrifying when it came. It was peaceful and serene. This time, sleep threw a merciful glance at him, and spared Erik of all nightmares. It wasn't cold. It wasn't lonely. It was as if another body was resting right next to him. Another heart beating right next to his. Breaths mingling and fingers entwined as candlelight slowly faded in the night, some eccentric darkling singing faraway, a song on serenity._

_Skin against skin, and a misty fragrance suspended in the atmosphere. Blue eyes glowed in candlelight, beckoning out to Erik's silver ones. Hands caressed the candlelit skin, one body so pastel in comparison to the other tanned one. Erik fanned his long fingers against the edges of the pastel hipbones, suddenly feeling possessive. Wings casted long shadows on the wall, and feathers danced in the air, platinum white and charcoal black. Lips against lips, and Erik tasted the whole world on his tongue. Snowflakes and sugar and honey dew._

_ Fingers threaded in his hair and pulled, and all of a sudden, the urgency hit him. The lust. The want._

_The need._

_Pale legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer. Erik deepened the kiss, rolling his hips against the smaller frame. As his reward, a drawn out moan greeted his ears. Erik moved down to nip at the pale jaw._

_"More," a voice whispered in his ears. A voice so familiar, urging him to hurry. More moaning and panting, inviting Erik to slide into the wet heat and bring them both the climax they desperately needed. The eager frame beneath his body moved up and rolled their erections together. Erik groaned, not wanting the pleasure to stop. This was so different than all the times he slept with others. Even the nymphs and sirens were not as pleasing. This was …as if these two bodies were made for each other –each touch eliciting sparks. The pleasure was raw and pure, like the sun and the moon. Like day and night. Like a dance of whisperers and listeners. Like the diamond ring around the eclipse. The perfect alignment of the three stars of Orion's belt._

_Hands pulled his face back for a kiss, biting onto his lips to accelerate the action._

_But Erik didn't want to hurry; he wanted to treasure every second. After all, it was everything we wanted for such a long time, he realized. But the broken voice that called out his name wanted otherwise._

_"Erik," his Guardian Angel moaned, raw and open, and that's when Erik realized –it wasn't his dream anymore._

Grey eyes snapped open and Erik stared into an unfamiliar ceiling. He was panting and the covers were sticking to his sweaty body. Immediately, the familiar smell of snow and winter woods hit his nose. As his mind started processing everything, he heard a moan on his left. His eyes landed on the fingers clutching his bicep, and the soft locks of brown hair sprawled on his black, satin bed sheets. The muffled moon-light cast a silver lining on the sleeping figure.

Erik gently removed the hand from his arm, and felt a shiver travel down his spine from the contact. He sat up, analyzing the situation.

Charles was sitting on the ground, leaning onto Erik's bed. Even in the darkness, Erik could see the redness of his lips, like Charles had been chewing hard on them. He was sweating and breathing hard.

Erik felt his heart pick up pace again as his mind flooded with wrong thoughts. Thoughts that were, by the way, not of his own origin, at least not this time.

And then Charles moaned again, but this time he moaned Erik's name, so strung and desperate, that Erik felt his own libido rise a notch. Charles' grip on the sheets tightened, and he bit his lip in his sleep. Erik could only imagine what was Charles dreaming of, when Charles whispered, 'more, oh, Erik!'

Erik felt the animalistic urge to pull up Charles by the neck and kiss him right there, but something held him back. He just sat there, transfixed, watching Charles pant and moan his name.

After a few heart stopping moans, Charles whined, voice broken, his entire body shivering. Erik felt the tremors in his own body. Like thousands of paper lanterns released to the velvet night at the same time. Like two stars crashing together, the sparks annihilating within the brightness. Maybe it was because of the emotional roller-coaster he just went through in his dreams. Or maybe because he knew that, even if in his dreams, Erik was the one that cleaved Charles.

Erik recognized the musky smell as soon as it hit the air, when Charles climaxed. It made his mouth water. Almost immediately, Charles' eyes snapped open.

Time stood as still as a predator sensing his prey, and in the stillness, Erik could almost listen to what Charles was thinking.

"Erik!" Charles sat straight, but then his eyes moved down to his lap and widened.

Charles' smell had broken something inside Erik. Most probably his self-control. Eyes dark with lust and body scorching with the need to touch, Erik slowly inched towards Charles. Who had just spent himself, but Erik could smell his freshened arousal nonetheless.

"No, Erik, wait!" Charles said, backing away. "This isn't what you think it is!"

Erik didn't say anything, didn't feel like wasting his time with words. Like the predator, he moved towards the promise of a mouth-watering meal.

Raw and inviting and all of Erik's to take.

"Erik, I'm so sorry!" Charles said before de-materializing into thin air.


	11. Chapter 10 Temptation

"This isn't what you think it is!"

The bitter taste of the lie still lingered in Charles' mouth. Of course it was what Erik thought it was! He wanted Erik; he'd tried to deny it for a long time, but it was of no use. He wanted Erik, he wanted him so much. And this raw want, this amount of desire, this was what scared Charles.

Was Erik his Temptation?

The reason Charles would fall? His one true weakness?

No! Charles' mustn't think about it. He had so many duties, so many responsibilities. How could he fall? What would his students think about him? Was he not their inspiration, their role model? What would they learn from his disloyalty?

What about the other Archangels? Was he not their leader? How could he fall and leave them leaderless? What path would they follow if the one leading them betrays the Deity?

Whom will the Cherubs sing about if they found out the one of the strongest Archangels thought of deceiving them? How will the Guardian Angels protect their souls if angels like Charles wont be there to look after them?

No. Wanting Erik was a sin. Charles needed to keep his desires in check. He was an Angel of the Lord, a soldier. He shouldn't blindly lust after things he shouldn't have in the first place.

Lust, a small voice said in his head. And what about the recent lust he was feeling for the Prince of Hell?

Charles shook his head, flying up to his cloud. It was not lust. He was just…feeling attracted to a fairly beautiful creature of the Lord, his feelings intensified especially because of the proximity. Reasonable enough.

But then, why did it have to be the Fallen? There were so many angels in Paradise whom Charles could take to bed, so many beautiful and sinless souls, though he hadn't tried anything more than harmless flirting. Charles knew he had his share of popularity among the angels, and having a relationship with any one of them wouldn't cost anything from his reputation. He wouldn't have to fall. He could happily live in Paradise with his mate. Just like his sister.

But, his Temptation had to be a Fallen. And not just any one, the leader of them all, the Prince of Hell, the first one who raised a voice against the Deity. The one who hated humans, just because they were more precious to the Deity.

The one who had ropes and ropes of muscles that rippled whenever he stretched. The one who had –in the name of the Deity- a navel piercing, a blue sapphire that shimmered in the right light. And, a teasing tattoo in an unknown script, etched low on below his navel, on the deep-vee, just peaking from under the waist-line of his trousers.

Charles swallowed, his throat suddenly going dry. He was sure Erik had more of such modifications in places he didn't want to think about right now. It was not like Charles was looking for them, they just caught his attention, sparkling and standing out in the dim lights.

Erik didn't have them, the 'alterations', when he served as an angel. He was the Light-Bringer, with sunshine hair and baby blue eyes. Though he had the same mouth-watering body and commanding stance, (which Charles didn't think about …much,) the dark aura that now surrounded Erik brought along a different charm. There was something about the shadows around him that made Erik stand out even more. Made Charles want to offer his body to Erik's mercy.

He knew what Erik was doing. Erik must've understood that Charles was untouched. Back when they worked together, they were good friends, and Charles might've slipped a few secrets. So now, Erik was trying to take advantage, stepping into Charles' personal space. If Erik thought he could defeat Charles by making him uncomfortable, he was wrong. Charles would not yield. He would not give away the young girl, no matter how much his body would tell him otherwise. Because submitting to Erik would be breaking the expectations of all his fellow angels.

What happened on Earth a few moments back was completely unexpected. Charles was lying in his bed, pondering about the constellations above the ceiling, when he heard the cries for help. Technically, he didn't exactly hear them with his ears, his mind perceived them. And the level of vulnerability in the voice scared him, because Erik, as much as Charles knew him, had never exposed his weaknesses to others.

Charles rushed to the room, expecting the worst. But in the dim lights, he could only see Erik, a broken flower vase, the ornate metallic lights out of shape, and a few ill-shaped photo frames, also metal. Though initially confused, Charles saw Erik restlessly tossing and turning in his sleep, and that was when it clicked together; nightmares. Not even the Prince of Hell was spared of haunting dreams, Charles thought, concern taking over. As he stepped closer, he could feel the heartbreaking aura strengthen. He saw Erik's nightmares, without even trying. Eyes watering up, Charles soothed down Erik's mind, touching him to amplify the process. He sent all the lightening and calming feelings he could muster, taking away Erik's haunting thoughts.

Erik's loneliness almost broke his heart. Erik was not alone, if only he knew!

Charles didn't know how much time passed, sitting in the darkness, gently caressing the prince's forehead. The day had been tiring, and Erik's bed looked so inviting. And of course, there lay Erik, equally alluring with miles and miles of bare skin, looking warm and so much at peace now. As if even unconsciously, Erik wanted to seduce Charles with the satin sheets. Charles simply wanted to curl up between Erik's arms and soothe away all nightmares. Sleep with him, simply lie down, and close his eyes, and sleep.

So, it wasn't his fault that he dreamt of Erik. Charles had dreams as such before, but never of this intensity. Maybe it was because of the proximity, but it all felt so real!

Charles didn't know how could he let go of his self-control so easily. But what was even more disturbing (and embarrassing) than climaxing in front of Erik was the fact that Erik knew what Charles was dreaming of. Charles was broadcasting his dreams (hopefully only to Erik), and he knew this, because everything in the dream was not entirely his doing. He could feel Erik's emotions as well, intense and almost tangible.

How did his telepathy leak? This hadn't happened before. His powers never slipped out of control. Was it because of the exhausting emotional roller coaster of Erik's dreams? Or was some other external factor responsible?

Charles stumbled when he landed in his cloud palace. No, he should stop thinking about it; he needed to have his head clear. He had some important preparations to make; it was only a few hours till the meeting with the Four Horsemen, and even less time for their arrivals.

He summoned Mystique, summarizing the accommodation facilities and other provisions to be taken care of.

With the rising sun, the young Cherubs could see silhouettes of horses rearing against the red sun. Banshee, the Commander announced the arrival of the Four Horsemen, his orange curls glowing in the morning light. He was called Sariel, the announcer of destiny. Charles took that a sign and decided to focus on his work.

He heard the whining of the horses and the hoof beats. He mentally prepared himself and revised all the agendas. Not once did he think about the bright blue piercing, enticing and inviting him from millions of miles away.

After the meeting, he'd end it, once and for all.


	12. Chapter 11 Armageddon

"Erik, we need to talk," Charles said with a tone of finality, stepping in front of the big French windows of the living room. Specks of dust lazily floated in the afternoon sunlight, reflecting the light like fireflies around him.

Erik looked up from his guest on the couch to the angel in front of him. Sunshine made Charles' hair a rich chocolaty-gold. His freckles stood out in the golden shade. Erik then looked back to the little girl sitting beside him.

"I'm a little busy," Erik replied, motioning towards Maya.

Charles was gone, and Erik had been pondering over what had happened last night. Did that dream mean Charles wanted him too? What about Erik's own nightmares? He didn't like this vulnerability at all, especially in front of Charles. Charles was not supposed to see underneath. The results were too hazardous to think of. Charles was simply supposed to believe that Erik didn't have a heart any more, and fall for his tricks and surrender Maya. And then Erik would go back to his life with loyal minions during the day and with unemotional bed partners at night.

He had been shifting restlessly in the mere space of a room, when he felt the strong presence. Sure, when he turned, he saw the violet-eyed girl smiling at him.

Something about her didn't seem right. Starting from her calling Charles and Erik her fathers, to being this uncharacteristically powerful, something didn't fit in place. Erik didn't know what exactly, but he had his suspicions. So he invited Maya to have a small conversation with and clear his doubts. But she had innocently agreed to answer on in the affirmative or negative. He had been asking a series of questions one after the other. And she had been answering.

Presently, she looked at him with the light of an unexpected intelligence in her eyes, and then she turned to face Charles.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but we really should talk," Charles said, determined. Graceful as ever, there was a hint of impatience in his voice. Maybe Erik's plan was working after all.

Erik shook his head, clicking his tongue once. "Charles, Charles. Always edgy," he took a deep sigh. Getting up, he made a show of being very busy and annoyed that Charles had disturbed him. "What is it that can't wait?" he asked, taking two steps towards Charles.

There was a strange buzzing in his blood; Erik ignored it.

"I think it's time we discuss what's going on," Charles replied, looking at Maya again.

"Why, I think it's perfectly clear," Erik said, taking another step forward.

The buzzing grew louder. It wasn't unfamiliar, but Erik couldn't recognize it.

"Is it? Really, Erik?" Charles asked, standing firmly in his place, looking every bit like the leader he was.

Before Erik could reply, he found his body being tugged forward. Some invisible force was pulling him forward. And strongly.

He walked-stumbled-tripped forward, walking straight in Charles and pushing him to the grills of the French windows. It was when he gripped the metal grills that he realized. The buzzing in his blood- it was his own body summoning the metal. The invisible force pulling him forward- that was his own powers. He had, subconsciously, drawn the metal grill of the windows. However, since the metal was strongly fixed, owing to the Victorian design of the apartments, instead of moving towards Erik, it had stayed static and pulled him. If Erik had been concentrating on them, the metal would have, obviously, dismantled and rush towards him.

Funny thing, because he didn't remember summoning any metal.

"Erik!" Charles gasped, breathless, squeezed between Erik and the metal. "What are you doing?"

"I-I don't know," Erik said, equally confused. This hadn't happened before. He never levitated like this unless he wanted it himself.

"Erik, in front of the girl? Please, there's a limit to everything!" Charles said, his tone exasperated.

At least he didn't ask Erik to step away, yet. Erik took that as a consolation. "Why, don't you like it?" he whispered, even though he wasn't exactly sure what was going on.

"Erik, please," Charles looked up to him. His blue eyes shone like a sea god's underwater cavern, some deep sea creature lighting up the blue.

In the name of Inferno! Erik had tried. He had tried to move away, but the metal wouldn't leave him. Sure, he could try to deform the metal and push away, but then, something asked him not to.

Out of nowhere, he had a vision. The images were brief, like flashes of lightning, but as bright nonetheless. He saw himself tilting Charles' face and kissing him; dragging the angel to his bed and crawling over him; bodies moving together in the rhythm of the heartbeat, red lips, eyes shut, fingers entwined-

In the blink of an eye, the images cleared, and Erik's eyes focused back on Charles, who was still squirming, trying to melt against the metal, andblushing an irregular shade of crimson. The thought hit him like thunder.

"It was you! The visions –the images?" Erik exclaimed. Charles' powers, they slipped out of control again. Did this happen often? "Charles?"

Charles stilled, lowering his head, and looking anywhere but towards Erik.

"Look at me!" Erik bellowed. "Charles!"

But the Archangel wasn't obeying. "No," he whispered. "This isn't what you think it is."

"This isn't what I think it is?" Erik asked, incredulous. "Those visions, Charles, weren't mine. You wanted that to happen. You want us to happen. Why won't you admit it?"

Charles slowly looked into Erik's eyes. "No-" he began, but stopped, face scrunching. Then he swallowed and said, "I don't."

Erik huffed. "You think I don't remember that? Lies have a bitter taste for angels, don't they? And the stronger the lie, the toxic the taste, is it not?" Erik paused, swallowing his anger. "Charles, please, listen to me." Erik pulled his hand off the metal-he was able to do it, successfully- and gently gripped Charles' shoulders. "If you want, we can make this happen. But you have to tell me. Say that you want it. And-"

"And what will you do?" Charles burst out of Erik's grip, neon flames burning in his blue eyes. "How will you abandon your little Inferno? How can I ditch Paradise?" He stepped forward, all frustration pooling in his voice. "What will my people think of me? How should I let them down? You tellme."

Charles took a step with each question, his body glowing faintly. "We can't be together! We shouldn't even be talking! Why should I be with you? You won't listen to me. You don't even want to try to give humans a chance. Just because a few wronged you, doesn't mean they all are like that! You won't even try. And you want me to agree with you? Why? You tell me!"

Erik had never seen Charles lose his temper. The saintly Archangel-his Charles- was fighting with him, and for what? Those pathetic creatures? Erik's vision went red from the sides.

"And just because a few behaved well with you," Erik said, "doesn't mean they all are like that! Don't you remember what happened to you last time? And it was because of them! Your love for them!" Erik didn't want to think about the War, but it was true, whatever he'd said. When Charles lost his wings, it was because of them. Charles, who would try to save the humans and sacrifice himself, and wouldn't even listen to Erik.

In fact, The War wouldn't have taken place in the first place had Charles not listened to the mortals and risk his life trying to save them.

They were wrong, and Erik knew it. He knew that Charles knew it too. The angel should've listened to Erik and joined his side, the world could've been so much better. But no! Charles had to stick with his morals, and help the humans. He had to take their side, even if that meant he'd lose Erik. Was that how much he valued Erik?

"What do you know of love, Erik?" Charles asked, voice cracking.

Oh. Erik realized, suddenly stilling. As if the veils had been raised and he could see it clearly.. How wrong he had been! From the very beginning.

Charles never wanted him, never understood him. Even now, Charles was only thinking of the humans and how mercilessly Erik and his Hell-mates slaughtered them, wasn't he?

"You were talking about what they did to me?" Charles asked, laughing, "No, Erik. You don't understand, do you? It doesn't matter what happened to me."

There. There it was. It never mattered what happened to Charles. Why did he have to be so humble? This wasn't right - this was agitating. Why did Charles have to be the one sacrificing? If something happened to him, who would take care of him? Would the humans come? No! Erik knew that Charles knew this answer. And Charles still didn't understand. He'd get nothing out of this! Nothing in return.

"Erik," Charles said, stopping. His eyes glistened wet, but tears didn't fall, even though the aura around him radiated pure pain. "What matters is what you did to me, my friend."

Erik felt fire in his veins. Pure fury maimed his tongue; he didn't say a single word. His palms folded into fists, nails digging in the flesh, arms shaking with anger. More than the rage, though, he felt the slap of defeat, like he'd lost a war; something cracking inside of him. So Charles stillbelieved that he lost his wings because of Erik? Still believed that Erik caused him all the pain?

He gathered himself. This was a lost battle. He was simply wasting his spirit here. He was wrong from the very beginning, and he needed to accept that.

Erik took a step back.

"Erik, you don't have to do this. We have it in us to be the better men," Charles said, still trying to win the long lost argument.

"We already are," Erik said, but he could see that Charles wouldn't be convinced. Even after all these years, Charles won't understand him. His duties and responsibilities mattered more than Erik. The humans were more valuable that Erik. Charles could endure all pains for them, but not come with Erik.

That was it; the last time Erik would try to convince Charles. Or talk to him. Or even think about him. Maybe they were not supposed to be together, after all.

Erik stepped further back, his wings slowly unfurling. This was goodbye.

"Listen to me very carefully, my friend," Charles said, perhaps sensing his desire to leave. "Killing will not bring you peace," the Archangel said slowly.

"Peace," Erik replied, "was never an option."

He closed his eyes, and the last thing he saw on Earth was Charles' heartbroken face.

That night, even though sleep didn't grace him, he felt the darkness slowly crawl underneath his skin.

He was all alone, and this time, there was no one to reach out to.


	13. Chapter 12 Lover of the Moon

"Peace was never an option."

Erik had disappeared into the night, abandoning Charles again. Charles tried to swallow his tears, but they wouldn't listen. Feeling his legs shaking, he slowly slid down to the floor.

A tempest of emotions threatened to drown him again. The heartbreak, the ache, the pain, they all were starting to rise again, and stuck knee-deep in the banks of the disaster was his heart, his soul.

He held his face in his hands, letting the tears fall. What had he done wrong? Why was he suffering? What had gone wrong? He tried to be unemotional, but couldn't help but hear the cracking of his previously shattered heart. Oh, how painstakingly he had glued it all together back again. He didn't have the strength to do it again.

"Hush," a soft voice called out. Charles felt a small weight on his shoulder. He looked up to see Maya gently patting him. "It'll be alright, I know this."

Had Charles been focusing, he'd have seen her eyes turn gold for the briefest second. Or noticed that habitual tilt of her head. Or said something about her prophetic declaration. But he hadn't.

Because her smile was full of hope.

Charles embraced her tightly, and sobbed for his loss. He wasn't sure what he'd lost; he never got his prized possession back to lose it again, but the emptiness was already numbing him. The girl stilled in her arms.

"They are sorry," she said after what seemed like an eternity. Charles had calmed down, and the only sound in the room was that of his ragged breathing.

"What?" Charles asked slowly, pulling her back.

"They didn't want this to happen. This wasn't how it was supposed to be," she said. It was then that Charles registered that her speech for too sophisticated for her age.

"M-Maya?" he asked.

"I'm sorry. But I want you to be happy," she said, eyes shining with tears. She kissed his forehead. "Both of you."

Charles saw her skin turning translucent.

"What? Maya, wait, what is-" Charles didn't have time to react. The little girl slowly merged with the thin air, and her body disappeared into whiffs, like colored incense.

"Listen to your heart, daddy," the winds whispered in his ears.

When an angel cries, Heavens cry with him.

Gabriel, the Messenger, looked at the skies as the winds picked up a destructive pace. Usually the storms were easy for her to control. She was 'Storm' herself, her eyes and hair as silver as the storm clouds in the horizon. It was her responsibility to control the weather, and not let it get too turbulent. But this tempest was something she had never seen before. Controlling this storm was a far-fetched idea.

With a flash of thunder, the skies cracked open and the tears started to fall. The downpour was strong, threatening to wash away Paradise itself. It was too powerful to be one regular soul's ache. It was as if the world had witnessed two broken hearts, crying simultaneously.

She hurriedly flew to Mystique's palace, shaking off the water from her feathers. When she stepped into the main hall, she found six pairs of eyes looking at her.

"This storm-I," she began, but what she possibly say next? "It's too strong for me to manage. Its because its…"

"We know," Mystique said, looking equally stressed. They all stood in tensed silence for a few moments. "We felt the connection break a few moments ago."

"I don't understand," Hank said, standing by the window. "How could we not see this coming?" He had rarely been wrong, how did he go wrong now?

"How did I not see this coming?" Phoenix asked to no one in particular. She saw the rains flooding Earth far below. She was the Watcher, she saw everything. How could she not see this coming?

"Please, everyone," Raphael, the Healer said, his tone soothing. He could feel all their pain, all of them pining inside, as if everything was to be blamed on each one of them entirely. "I know you all blame yourselves, but this is not your fault. And you must acknowledge this."

"Armando's right," Mystique said, nodding towards the angel. "Banshee, can you establish a contact?"

"I tried to call out to them, but now that the Prince is back in Inferno, no one is responding," Banshee informed. Usually the most laid-back of all the Elite Seven, even he was fidgeting now.

Silence once again dominated the cloud palace.

"So, what do we do now?" Rogue asked in a small voice, expecting no response.

"Now, we keep faith," a confident female voice replied. Everyone turned to the owner of the voice, and for a second, even the brightest Archangel in the room, Hank, was startled. For the convinced voice belonged to none other but Silver Fox, one of the Four Horsemen.

Owner of the White Horse, Victory, she assertively walked towards the group. All the angels in the room stilled. The Horsemen always had been, well, cold and professional; down to business. They seemed nice, but only with few of the highest ranking angels, like Charles. The rest of them, they didn't talk to the Horsemen much, except when discussing business matters.

Presently, however, things were going differently. Silver Fox was smiling with the warmth an old friend. Approaching them, she asked them all to sit in a circle and join their hands with each other.

"We keep faith," she repeated, sitting between Mystique and Storm. She held onto their hands, and closed her eyes to pray. The Archangels followed suit. Silver Fox had the ability to instigate certain feelings in others through physical contact. Presently she was sending soothing feelings to all the distressed minds in the room.

Outside, the winds howled.

The Archangels were much younger than her, and thus, inexperienced as well. Little did they know that once Destiny writes down the story, they all were bound to play their roles. They needn't worry about the rest; Fate would pull the strings and set everything to the correct path.

Charles sat on the edge of a cliff, staring at the blue moon. A little below, waves crashed, sprinkling small droplets of water on his skin, as if the oceans could feel his heartbreak and were trying to console him.

He couldn't think about it anymore-he actually didn't know what to think now. He wasn't sure what was going on. The girl, the Prince, the humans, nothing made sense anymore.

The most gnawing thought was that of his want. He'd tried to stop, to refrain himself, but in vain. He still wanted Erik, even if it was wrong. It was sinful and immoral. And yet, he wanted nothing more than to run to the Fallen angel and embrace his warmth and cry his heart out.

"What've I done wrong?" He asked out loud to the moon. Had he not done everything he was supposed to do?

"Sometimes, you need to let go, Charles."

The whining of the horse finally caught Charles' attention. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Logan," Charles nodded, looking to the sky. He could make out the constellations of Andromeda in the silver sky, just like Erik's eyes. He heard the thumping of boots crashing to the ground as Logan got off the horse and strolled to the edge. Grunting, he sat down, pulling back his metallic claws under his skin.

Owner of the Pale Horse, Death, Wolverine was as old as time itself, but he didn't look much older than his thirties. Blessed with a handsome face and a peculiar sense of humor, both of which had not aged with time, he was one of the most trustworthy allies Charles had. To the Archangel, he was Logan, a friend and confidante.

"Have you ever wondered why the moon is so lonely?" Logan asked, looking at the moon.

Charles studied Logan's face in the silver light, and then looked back to the moon. Dark clouds covered the stars and the sky; the moon was the only heavenly orb that peeked out from a gap in the clouds.

She did look lonely.

Charles gently shook his head.

"Years ago, the moon had a lover. But another jealous contender tricked him to fetch roses for her from another land. What the lover didn't know that once he left the spirit world, he'd never be able to return." Logan paused; a nocturnal insect called out, and the winds rustled in the distance. "So now, every night he howls for her love and she watches him in pain," he said, his voice getting lower, as if the story related to him on a personal level. The silence that followed suit was deafening. "Moral of the story is, don't let go of things you want because of others."

Charles looked back to him, hoping that his own silence would be compatible enough.

"Listen up, kid," Logan said, interrupting the stillness. "There is something you should know."

Charles looked at him expectantly.

"The world is an illusion," the Wolverine said to the night sky.


	14. Chapter 13 The Illusion

_"Maya, were you born on Earth?" Erik had asked Maya they day before the fight._

_"No."_

It all started almost a century ago.

The winds were gentle that particular day, caressing Mystique's soft curls. The skies were bright and blue, and she took that as a hint from Destiny. The time had come.

She flew to Raziel's palace in the clouds. Rogue, the Keeper of Secrets, had the best place to keep this meeting.

"My friends," she said to the waiting Archangels. "The moment has arrived."

One by one, the Seven Archangels dived off the edge. If they hadn't concealed their forms, a viewer from the far off mountains would've mistaken them for seven falling stars.

Today, the Elite Seven were leaderless. Charles was down there, negotiating with leaders of two worlds, and they had the perfect opportunity. Of course, this whole plan was for him; a gift, a present, a salvation for him. He couldn't know about it.

They couldn't directly lie to him, but that didn't imply that the whole thing couldn't be kept as a secret.

_"In Paradise then?"_

_"I was not."_

Emma's eyes were focused on the embers crackling in the Hellfire. The Commander, that merry angel with the orange curls had called out to them.

It was time. She sent messages to the other Sins. As soon as all of them assembled in the hall, she disclosed the news to them. But she was careful, her voice did not rise above a whisper; there were spirits lurking in every corner of Hell.

Their king might not enquire about them every moment, but they knew that he kept an eye on them all time. They had to be very discreet about everything.

Concealing their forms, they dematerialized. It was, after all, difficult to lie to the King of lies.

_"Were you born in Inferno?"_

_"No, Erik."_

Immortals as they were, they still had their limitations.

Angels couldn't step into Hell, the heat would devour their flesh, the embers would smolder their feet as soon as they walked the land. The screaming souls would make their ears bleed. The Fires were too wild for them to bear.

Demons, on the other hand, wouldn't fly to Heaven. The light was too garish for them. Their nocturnal eyes would be blinded with the divine brightness. The serene silence would deafen them. The chastity was too soothing for them to blend to.

So this venture had to be undertaken somewhere neutral. Earth had been suggested once, but then they discarded the idea. Both their leaders had their prime focus on Earth; for one it was a hunting ground, and for the other a guarding area.

And then Hank had turned up with the perfect place. The land underwater; the city of pearls. After all, life had started from the sea, and this legend was almost prophesying to their undertaking.

Atlantis, the kingdom of myths.

The idea had spurted in Mystique's mind. Not only because this was her brother she was concerned for, but because she was the Angel of Justice, and righteousness graces everyone, be it in one form or the other. Her brother deserved the fruits of his labor.

But there was a problem; even if it was seven of them, seven powerful Archangels of Heaven, it would be difficult to deceive their Leader. And much of it was owing to the fact that even after knowing it was for the greater good, their hearts would refuse to lie and swindle. And Charles? He would see right into their souls; his blue eyes were clairvoyant. He would figure out everything within moments.

Rogue had offered to help with that, but then Phoenix pointed out another obstruction.

Only the Creator could create life. What they were going to do, was create an illusion of life. And for that, they needed to amalgamate the Seven Elements of nature. Now, the Seven Archangels were bestowed with the power of the Elements, one for each. But they only had the Lighter part of the Element.

Wasn't life a concoction of light and darkness? What was the sun without the night sky? What was the candle without the shadows? What was music without noise? Colors without blackness?

Angels without Demons?

All the Elements had a darker counterpart. And they belonged to the Seven Sins.

_"Maya, can you lie directly?"_

_"No."_

_Just like the angels, then?_

Working with the Angels was something Shaw had never thought of. He wanted to refuse the very instant he heard the messenger. He was Prideafter all. And the idea of working with his enemies almost hurt his very existence.

But just like others, he had seen his king suffering. Maybe the other subjects didn't notice, but the Sins were too close to their sovereign to ignore his agony. He was the Prince of Hell, he was supposed to instigate pain to others, not crush his own soul. And boy, Shaw knows how much Erik had tried to hide. But Shaw saw Erik's pride standing in way of his peace.

If working with the Angels meant he could revive his king, Shaw would do it. But just this one time.

He didn't agree directly, but when Emma confirmed the deal, he didn't object either.

_"So, can you fabricate stories? Bend the truth, instead of lying?"_

_"Yes I can."_

_A trait more common for a demon?_

The angels reached Atlantis to find the demons waiting for them.

"Let's do this quickly," Azazel hissed, unhappy with the saints in the room.

Storm nodded in agreement, with a frown on her face.

Taking their positions, they concentrated on the results and not the faces in front of them

Air.

Unseen. But not unfelt. A medium for sound. The more the openness, the more the strength. Air didn't cease, from breezes to winds, drifts to blizzards.

The lighter half of Air belonged to Banshee, the Commander. The other half with Azazel, the Keeper of Greed.

Water.

Uncontrolled, untamed. A transporter. A courier. The symbol of fluidity. Depth. Non-satiety.

Water belonged to Storm, the Messenger, and Janos, the Keeper of Gluttony.

Earth.

Earth was a symbol of evolution and adaptation. A storehouse of energy.

Earth was divided between Darwin, the Healer, and Cyclops, the Keeper of Wrath.

Fire.

Implied brightness and power- it belonged to Phoenix, the Watcher. Fire also symbolized undying strength that arose from the fire in the veins, an uncontrolled driving force- it was with Emma, the Keeper of Lust.

Metal.

Metal signified solidity and strength. Unyielding, like the truth. And it had different forms. It belonged with Mystique, the Angel of Justice.

Metal, with its bulkiness, was also sluggish and lethargic. It belonged with Shadow Cat, the Keeper of Sloth.

Wood.

Wood was a symbol of clandestine and refuge. Shelter for secrets, for it belonged to Rogue, the Angel of Secrets, and a shelter for enigmatic creatures, like Tempest, the Keeper of Envy.

Space.

Lastly, space symbolized vastness, like knowledge, unending and ever-present. It belonged to Hank, the Advisor.

Space represented the commanding spirit, a guiding power, a driving force. Like it belonged to Shaw, the Keeper of Pride.

The Elite Seven and the Seven Deadly Sins, fusing their powers together to form an illusion. It was a girl, formed in the image of the Goddess, with rich sunrise curls and soft violet eyes. She had the powers of an angel- she was serene, graceful, loyal and innocent. And she had the strengths of a demon- she could fabricate around the truth, she could handle tipping situations and she could sense the lies.

The life essence provided by the angels was strong enough to be mistaken for a life. And the demons covered her with a veil of shadows, thick enough to deceit the strong leaders.

But with her uncontrolled powers, the girl herself was hard to control. The group decided to leave her in Atlantis for some time to be bred by theTime Keepers.

Even though it took the Time Keepers almost a century to teach her control, they did their job well.

She had only one mission and she was trained to achieve it. She was named Maya, the Illusion.

The plan was well thought of. Since it was impossible to work in either of Heaven or Hell, Earth was the next best idea.

But Earth was not in their territories, it was unfamiliar and unconquered. So they chose a Catalyst, a human with a loyal heart and a clear conscience to be the guardian of the little girl. Moira MacTaggart.

The plan would be put into motion automatically.

Erik and Charles would detect an unbiased power on Earth, and both would want Maya to join them. The rest would declare their defeat in convincing her, which wouldn't be a lie really, and this would force the Archangel and the Prince of Hell to come together, in the name of 'recruiting' her.

Now the rest would go with the flow, and a little input from Maya now and then. For her, Charles and Erik were fatherly figures, so why not address them as 'fathers' to give them a taste of how a domestic life would be if they were together?

The group had noticed their powers going haywire in Maya's presence. They hoped that it would only amplify the process, catalyzing emotions as well. As for the rest of the group, they practiced putting up mental shields so that the telepath or the reader of lies would not catch them red handed.

All their leaders needed, was some time with each other. They needed to talk and sort everything out. Maybe that would somehow ease their burden.

With this expectation in their hearts, the immortals set out their plan.

_"Maya," Erik could ask one last question, before Charles arrived. "Are you real?"_

_"No."_


	15. Chapter 14 Solace

"How fucked up do you think we are?" Azazel asked, leaning against the backrest.

Janos shrugged from behind the mini bar, swallowing his entire glass in one go.

"I'd say," a face said, suddenly materializing in front of Janos, "you all are pretty much doomed."

When Janos recognized the owner of the face, he fell off his chair. It was Havoc, one of the Four Horsemen. Owner of the red horse, War, he picked up a glass for himself and filled it up.

"And I'd say," said another voice, materializing on the sofa beside Azazel. He jumped and sat straighter when he recognized Gambit, owner of the black horse, Famine, sitting beside him. "You all should pack your bags and run before your boss finds out the truth -which he will, yes."

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Janos asked once he sat up again and dusted his coat, with a look of panic and confusion on his face. The Horsemen were never this friendly –if that was what they were trying to be- with them. Was this a bad thing?

"Relax, guys!" Havoc said, sipping from his glass. "We just came to grant all of your dying wishes. After all, what's gonna happen to you next…"he trailed off.

"What do you mean?" Tempest asked, swallowing.

"What is exactly going to happen to us?" Shadowcat asked, peering from behind Tempest.

"Hmmm," Gambit tapped a finger on his chin, as if thinking. "I think he'd decorate the wall with your heads as trophies. What do you think, Alex?"

He was probably talking to Havoc, (a pet name or something), because the latter replied in negative. "Nah, I think he'd skin them into carpets."

Shadowcat's eyes widened and she shared a troubled look with Tempest.

"Please, men, tell me that you're not serious," Emma asked from behind her glass, uncrossing her legs, and crossing them again.

"What do you think?" Havoc asked with a smirk.

"I think we all need a glass each, Janos," Shaw called out. "Probably more than one."

Emma suddenly felt a clink in the atmosphere, like something intangible had shifted, but she couldn't place a finger on it. She decided to ignore it, and didn't say anything out loud. Probably paranoia, she concluded.

Time passed in a slow, intimidating pace. Though a sliver of fear was still there, the Sins were getting contented with the two Horsemen. The small conversation with them had calmed them down, whether they'd admit it or not.

"So what you are saying is that this plan will still work?" Tempest asked, smiling slyly towards Havoc.

"What we are saying is," Havoc smiled back, "you all need to refrain yourselves from doing anything stupid." The last word wiped the smile off Tempest's face.

"Lay low, guys," Gambit said, stirring the ice in his drink. "Let Fate continue the game."

Shaw huffed, finishing his drink.

Shortly, the two Horsemen took their leave, warning them again not to do anything stupid. But Emma realized the truth; they had come to calm the Sins, in which, they were successful.

The Sins sat in the room, analyzing their situation.

Subtly, the curtains rustled, and a sprite hovered over to Emma. She whispered something urgently, and then confirmed when Emma raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

"Guys, listen," she said when the chatter died. "The Gatekeepers have reported an angel."

"What?" Scott asked, rising to his feet. "Here, in Hell?"

Emma nodded in affirmation.

"What does it want?" Shaw asked, already disgusted. After all, the plan wouldn't have failed if the Archangel hadn't started quarrelling. In fact, the whole problem wouldn't have existed in the first place if that Archangel hadn't stepped into their king's life. It was all the angels' fault.

"Emma," Azazel said, walking to her. "Do you want me to handle it?"

"No," Emma said, deciding. "I'll go look into this myself." After all, it was she who had first agreed to work with the angels.

The angel had his face obscured under a white hood, but Emma could positively say that he wasn't one of the Elite Seven; she had seen all of their faces closely.

Emma hadn't actively taken part in a war, so she wasn't sure if she'd recognize this man. But an identity crisis didn't bother her; this angel must be a messenger. Who else would take the trouble of burning in Hell? What was troubling her was the fact that she hadn't sensed the presence of an angel. That rarely happened, remembering the fact the angels rarely stepped into Inferno. Was this angel the clink in the atmosphere she had felt earlier?

Of course! It hit her a second later. The white cloak, it must be a cloak of Purity, designed by the Time Keepers. Emma hadn't seen one before, but she had heard the legends. This cloak could provide concealment and protection to the one wearing it. That must be the reason she didn't sense him, and how he was able to withstand the heat all this time.

But these cloaks were exceptional pieces, and only two or three pieces existed in the entire world. The question was, how did a mere messenger get his hands on it?

"Stop right there, little angel," Emma said with hands on her hips, blocking the path of the angel. "I will not let you proceed any further."

The angel huffed. "Please, Miss. Let me pass," he said, red lips curving upwards.

"You don't understand, do you? I shall not let you go any further," Emma retaliated, shifting to her diamond form.

"Very well," the angel said, brandishing his sword. It glowed with a bright blue flame, brighter than the Hellfire itself. Emma's eyes widened as she recognized the blade. Eleftheria.

"Then I shall make me a path myself," the angel replied, pulling back his hood. Brown curls rustled with the fabric, and Emma's frosty eyes met a pair of heavenly eyes, shining bluer than his Eleftheria.

Emma hadn't met the leader of the Archangels before, but there was no mistaking the pastel shade of skin and amused arch of eyebrows. Even in the fiery darkness, his skin glowed, throwing light of its own. He radiated dominance and confidence.

"Charles?" She asked. Then, panicking, she quickly raised her mental shields. How could she forget that this man was a telepath?

"Too late for that, love," the angel smiled, tilting his head. "Nice finally meeting you, Emma?" he asked slowly, observing her reactions with an amused face.

Emma's eyes thinned to slits. "What are you doing here?"

"You all did what you had to," he said, eyes twinkling. He couldn't- possibly be talking about the whole illusion-conspiracy-secret, right? "It's time for me now," he finished, sheathing his sword. "Now, let me pass."

"No, you don't understand," Emma said, shifting back from her diamond form. "You can't go any further. The Fires are scorching hot; they will burn you. You won't be able to take the heat."

It was the truth. Emma might dislike the angels, but this was his king's choice, (which was appreciable, really. In fact Emma wouldn't have minded touching him a bit, or maybe-no, Emma, as if Erik wasn't already sharpening his blades to skin them. Stop looking at your king's mate as if he were dessert. ) The Fires really heated up from the next step; that's why she was standing on the stairs. What Charles had crossed till now, wasnothing compared to what lay ahead. Angels, no matter how many cloaks they wore, would not be able to withstand the heat. Especially one like Charles, who had already lost his wings once.

"I appreciate your concern," Charles replied, his tone going softer. Did he read her mind? "But I need to do this. And you need to understand me."

Emma couldn't refuse the resolve in his voice. Was this how he guided his angels? This gentle approach, with determination so firm in the subtext that not even Valor himself could deny? Eyes shooting commands like canons. No doubt he was their leader. She hadn't seen such determination and bravery in any of the other angel's eyes, not even Mystique's. His blue eyes were piercing her very soul.

"Do you, Emma? Understand me?"

Emma weighed the options, and then nodded, moving out of the way. What had the Horseman advised? Let Fate play the game? So Fate be it.


	16. Chapter 15 Underneath

Erik was standing by the window facing the Inner City. The windows towards the Outer City, which provided most of the light in his bedroom, were covered tonight. He had extinguished all the candles in the room, darkness swallowing his surroundings. The only light came from the city, casting a muffled, golden shadow over his features.

Erik knew he was distracted; he needed to focus on his work, and forget the whole incident. Get that angel out of his mind before he did something stupid.

If his mother were here, how things would've been different! He'd crown her the Queen, and she'd take over his responsibilities and force him to take a break. And then he would go and strangle some of his favorite people in all of the Worlds. Seven of them, to be precise.

Maya hadn't answered all his questions directly, but Erik wasn't as big of an idiot as his associates took him to be. He could put two and two together, and he knew that his Sins had something to do in this entire façade. Something big.

And they deserved a reward for that, didn't they? Something involving knifes and blades, yes? And the dinner table, maybe. But what was going to be served was a different approach altogether.

"Do you still play, Erik?" a voice asked. Snowflakes and honeydew. Erik turned abruptly, unbelieving his ears.

There he was, Charles, standing in the shadows, studying a rook of the glass chess set Erik kept by his bed.

"Charles?!" Erik stood fixated, unable to decide what to think. What was Charles of all people doing here? And how did he come here? It was almost impossible, physically, for angels to get this deep in Inferno. An angel in the castle of the Prince of Hell? And in his bedroom nonetheless!

"Almost, my friend," Charles corrected him. "Not entirely impossible."

How did he- Charles read his mind? Erik stepped back.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," Charles said sheepishly, "you were too loud."

Erik stood against the light from the windows, stiffening.

Charles placed the rook back on the chess board. "Look Erik, I know I made a mistake," he said, taking a step forward into the light. Seeing Charles' conditions, Erik's eyes widened.

The cloak Charles was wearing was tattered around the edges, and what in Hell? Charles was positively steaming, flushed from the heat. His brown hair was dark from dampness, sticking to his forehead.

He took another staggering step, and Erik noticed his bleeding feat. Scorched and blistered.

It was then when Erik registered the effort it took Charles to stand straight, or even breathe. Charles simply stood there, almost as if trying to compose his balance.

"Charles, are you alright?" Erik asked, unsure.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" Charles asked with a forced smile. Then, wobbling, his feet gave away, and he crashed to the carpeted floor. In an instant, Erik was kneeling by his side.

"Looks like I'm wearing too many layers for the weather?" Charles asked weakly.

"Charles, you need to rest. We'll talk later, first, you come with me," Erik said, getting up, but Charles caught him by the wrist. Erik knew his room was better than the rest of Hell, he kept it that way, but it was still hot for an angel.

"No. You need to listen to me, Erik," the angel said firmly, pulling Erik down to the floor.

"First of all, I'm sorry Erik. I was wrong. I was wrong with so many things," Charles confessed. "I have an honor to protect, but what is it worth, if it only means I get these pearls on my brow? Erik, wanting you is not a sin, and it took me so long to realize that!"

Erik sat in silence, absorbing every word. Was he supposed to believe his ears or was Fate enjoying another round of cruel irony?

"I've been an idiot, let me accept that." Charles said, his laugh wavering. "I was only thinking about what my fledglings would say if I came to you. But I forgot what they would think if they knew their teacher had stopped listening to his heart. I tell them to follow their hearts, and here I am, crushing away my thoughts." His eyes glistened with tears.

"You are not my Temptation, Erik. You won't make me fall," Charles gently caressed Erik's face, as if it was medicine to his wounds. "You are mySalvation." His touch was cool, even with his body burning.

"I never blamed you for my wings, and you should know that," Charles said softly.

"But, that day, you said-?" Erik interrupted, unable to control his confusion.

"No, not for my wings. On the last day of the War, I wasn't blaming you for my condition. I was talking about the whole War." A tear slipped down his pale face. "All I ever wanted, Erik, was to live in peace. All of us. And you."

"What about yesterday?" Erik asked, hands curling over Charles'. "When you said-"

"I wasn't talking about my wings! Did you ever pause and think what happened to me after you left? Physical wounds could heal overtime, what about my insides? Erik, did you even realize you were taking away a part of my soul with you?"

The tears were flowing effortlessly now, like two silver cascades in the golden light. Erik desperately wanted to do something, anything to stop the tears, but all he could do, was sit and listen.

"I yearned for you, everyday. And that scared me. Scared me more than you could imagine. I was afraid of betraying the Deity. I was afraid of losing myself." Charles paused to take a breath. His voice was broken when he spoke next. "I was ashamed of myself, but look how wrong I'd been."

"Do you know why was I afraid, Erik?" he asked, smiling through the tears. Erik shook his head, eyes watery, the tears threatening to break out any moment.

"I was seeing the Deity's reflection in you," Charles said, closing his eyes. Tears raced down his face. "I was afraid I'd start worshipping you," he whispered. "I didn't want to betray my people, Erik; they all depended on me. I didn't want to betray my God."

Charles slowly moved forward, inch by inch, and rested his forehead on Erik's. The Prince of Hell closed his eyes, letting his tears fall.

"But I had forgotten. I forgot that love was the Deity's true power. I wasn't betraying the Lord by falling for you. In fact," Charles huffed, "I was closer to Salvation with you. When you said we're brothers, I disagreed, because I believed we were closer than that. More than that."

"I'm sorry I let you go in the past." Charles' hands fisted into the thin material Erik was wearing. "But I'm here now, and I won't let you leave me again. I don't care whatever you do; I will not come in your way."

"Paradise is in capable hands. I know my angels will take care of all my responsibilities. I am here now, Erik. And I won't let you go." His voice was wavering now, as if he was using all his effort. He slumped, leaning into Erik's chest.

"Charles," Erik interrupted quietly. All this while, he hadn't said a single thing. He was trying to believe what he was listening, but it sounded impossible. He was an idiot! How could he even think that Charles was bluffing?

But Charles didn't stop. "I found my Passion, and I will follow his orders now. Erik. I'm in love with you, please forgive me? Forgive me for my unawareness, my naivety, and my disillusionment. Please, I-"

Erik pulled him up and crashed their lips together. Charles had the same flavor as that of his fragrance, of snow flakes and wild flowers. His taste was soothing; like Erik had discovered an oasis in the middle of the scorching desert of his life. He tasted like falling stars and early morning mist. Refined and pure, like cool water from the mountains, like the silver linings of the clouds.

They pulled back after a long moment, yet it wasn't enough. But it could wait, just a few more minutes. First Erik had to correct Charles.

"Charles," he said, breathing hard and his voice raspy. "You don't have to sacrifice anything. You don't have to give up your duties; you don't have to leave Heaven." He cupped the angel's face in his palm. "You don't have to burn in Hell."

Charles looked crestfallen, as if Erik had rejected his proposal. "Erik, do you not- don't you- I mean, I thought that you wanted-? I mean, me, I thought I. Oh good Lord!" Charles jumped back. "I am so sorry, Erik! If you don't want me here, I'll leave and-"

"No, Charles, listen," Erik caught the white robe and dragged Charles closer again. Maneuvering, he pulled Charles into his lap. Charles 'eep-ed!', blushing. Right, the great warrior, The Soldier, blushing because of this position of all things. "I want you. I've always wanted you, from the moment I first saw you in the water."

Erik still remembered that moment clearly. The water was freezing and turbulent. But there was an unfamiliar, warm presence in his mind. Like lukewarm sunlight on a chilly winter morning. Like warm rain on a stormy evening. Like the warm current that thaws the ice and declares the arrival of spring. A voice that raised him out of the waters and out of damnation that day. Eyes, nebulas, bluer than the ocean itself. Skin, glowing like an ethereal creature.

"I just don't want you here," Erik said.

"But, I thought you wanted," Charles asked weakly.

"I do, but-"

"But what, Erik? We can't be together, if not here. This is the only place where we both can stay."

"And what if we go to Earth?"

"Earth?" Charles stilled. "But the humans, you hate them."

"Yes, I do," Erik huffed, the corners of lips tilting up. "But I love you more, you idiot."

Taking a moment to register what Erik just said, Charles gave a small cry of relief, and wrapped his arms tightly around the Prince.

"Although," Erik said into Charles' hair. "We'd have to live somewhere in the mountains or the desert maybe. You know, somewhere in deep isolation. Until we figure out everything else."

He felt Charles' laughter resonate through his own body. No other music had ever felt so divine to his ears.

"But then," Charles asked when he pulled back. "What about your people, Erik?"

"Ah, yes, my people," Erik sighed. "They must be waiting for their rewards… Say, Charles, do you mind joining me when I'm skinning them?"

Charles raised an eyebrow.

"What? I know you're thinking the same thing!" Erik said in his defense.

"No, Erik, I don't want to eat your people," the telepath confessed, breathless.

"Even after all they did? Do you know-"

"Yes, the whole 'Maya'? Logan gave me an eye opening hint, and I figured out the rest," Charles said, looking away. "How did you find out?"

"I asked a few important questions, and really Charles. Do you think my men can lie to me, successfully?"

"Oh."

After a compatible moment of silence, Charles, with his hands still pressed firmly on Erik's chest, asked in a small voice. "So, um. What were you saying about wanting me from the first time you saw me?"

"Yes that," a predator's smiled dominated Erik's features. "If I hadn't been so enraged that time, I'd have taken you right there, in the water."

Erik was sure Charles didn't realize how tempting he looked at that moment; so ethereal and other-worldly. He pulled the angel closer for a kiss, combing his fingers in the damp curls.

"In fact," Erik continued, lowering his voice, lips ghosting over Charles'. "If you don't hurry to the bed, I'll take you right here. On the floor."

Charles gasped, and then tried to get up. Only to crash back into Erik.

"Woah, okay," Charles said, frowning. "Erik, I- I can't feel my legs."

Erik's eyes widened, a flashback of nightmares replaying in his eyes.

"No, relax. It's definitely temporary…" Charles interrupted his thoughts. "It's probably the heat, and…um, Erik I don't like the look in your eyes."

"Do you know that you're heavy?" Erik asked, playfully huffing.

"Or. You could just let me down," Charles said, squirming. "Erik, please, put me down."

"Huh, make me," Erik said smugly, jostling Charles in his arms.

"What will everyone say?" Charles asked weakly.

Erik didn't care about anyone seeing him now. "This is my kingdom; I can carry anyone I want to."

Charles crossed his arms. "Just because I am not saying anything now, doesn't mean you can escape this," he warned, but without any real heat.

Burning.

Charles was positive he was burning. The pain was turning excruciating; the heat was unbearable.

Hellfire was fueled by the agony of the tortured souls, and these souls, the damned, the sinners, they were endless. And thus the heat, scalding and raw, was too much for an angel to bear.

The atmosphere was uncomfortably dry, and breathing was difficult. The heat was clawing at his skin, threatening to set him alight. And his feet-oh Heavens!- his feet had blistered badly, and bleeding. Pain shot arrows up his body whenever his feet touched the ground. He was afraid he'd never be able to walk.

Thankfully, Erik had taken the trouble to carry him. Charles wouldn't admit it, but he was really, really grateful. Positive that the heat would envelope him alive, Charles surrendered to the darkness surrounding him. The gentle rocking and the security in Erik's arms were steadily erasing all his exhaustions –both physical and mental.

He wasn't sure whether the heat would let him live –it was absolutely scorching. But it didn't matter anymore, really. He'd already said what he came here for. And now Erik knew. Erik knew how much Charles valued him, how much Erik mattered.

The rest were distant stars compared to the sun.

Erik knew that all of Inferno saw him carry an angel out of the hellfire. What he didn't register was the burn marks on his feet, how the embers, perfectly comfortable till yesterday, had started scalding him as well. The embers, which were supposed to nourish a demon, and scald an angel.

Of course, he hadn't noticed the new golden feather on his back either.


	17. Epilogue

A/N- Hey guys! The Epilogue actually contains smut. Totally MA content. Pornpornporn. And I was reading the guide lines, which said MA not allowed. So here's the archiveofourown link. I would be really grateful if you finished the story there! Remember it contains MA/Explicit content. Proceed only if you're of the appropriate age and all!

Its here~ works/956052/chapters/1871328

I made banners for each chapter, and you can find them on the archive! I hope you enjoy! =)

Also, it would be really sweet if you left a kudos or two. I believe my artist/muse deserves so much applause, and I would love to shower her with affections.


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